These Things
by LifeBringsMeOnlyTears
Summary: The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)
1. Chapter One

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

 **Author's Note:** This story takes place at the beginning of the second season (in the television show), right before the walker herd wreaks havoc and causes Sophia to run off in terror. The premise for this story brewed in my head for quite some time before I finally put it on paper. I have a certain fondness for this show and the many characters and the many layers to their personalities and abilities. TWD writers are talented, but very sneaky. When I started this story, I had one thought in mind: "What if Shane had some other facet in his life in season two that brought him back from the brink?" This is the growth of that particular idea.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter One~**_

I took a deep breath and passed the canteen over to Libby distractedly, brown eyes trained on the three stiffs a couple dozen feet away. She snatched the canteen free from my grasp and I eased back on my haunches, squatting behind a car that offered us some semblance of protection from the group of shuffling stiffs that had yet to notice us.

Libby took a long draw from the canteen and then capped it and slung the strap over her neck lazily. "Let's just go 'round, Iva. I'm tired and the sun's beating down on us like hell."

My lips twitched at the whiny twang in her voice, and I spared her a quick glance before I focused my attention on the three stiffs yet again. "It's just the three of them, Libs. We can take them out easily and then we can check these cars to see if we can get one going." I heard Libby grumble under her breath, but she didn't make another sound when I slipped the hatchet on my hip from its sheath. "I'll get the two guys, you take down the woman."

She tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear and then palmed her knife in her right hand. There was a light in her hazel eyes I recognized all too well; the adrenaline rush crashed through me simultaneously.

We moved in tandem, side stepping around the truck we'd taken cover behind in order to flank the three stiffs. The sound of teeth gnashing made my skin crawl, but I deftly stalked forward and delivered a staggering blow to the temple of one of the male stiffs, putting my booted foot against his gory chest to get the leverage I needed to yank it free. Then I turned my attention to the second male stiff, hesitating only a second before I swung under its outstretched arm and slammed the blade of the hatchet into the right side of its head. Blood splattered and gore and brain debris rained out in an arc away from me, the stiff collapsed onto the ground when I retracted the hatchet.

Libby frowned at me when I turned to face her, but wiped the bloodied blade of her knife off on the unmoving stiff's clothes before she tucked it into the sheath on her waist. Some of her long blonde hair had pulled free of the tight ponytail she'd erected earlier that morning, but she didn't seem bothered by it as she pulled her faded green hat down lower on her head.

I used a stiff's soiled shirt to wipe off the hatchet and then secured it in the sheath clipped to my belt. I popped the clasp that kept my knife in place in its sheath near the hatchet, ready to draw it out of the worn leather at a moment's notice.

"Iva?"

"Yeah?" I asked distractedly as I yanked open the rusted door of an old sedan. When she didn't immediately answer, I glanced over my shoulder at her in alarm. But, the serene smile on her lips assured me that nothing was wrong. "What's up?"

"If you find a pack of cigarettes, I'll carry your pack for two days."

With a quiet chuckle, I checked the backseat and then slid into the driver's seat. When I found that the car wouldn't start due to a dead body caught up in the grill, I yanked open the glove box and searched its contents. I discovered a pack of gum and a pacifier. My stomach clenched tightly and I abruptly glanced in the rearview mirror and spied the empty car seat in the back.

Angry, I swung out of the car and yanked open the back door to check the floorboard before I used the keys still hanging in the ignition to pop the trunk.

"Eureka." I ignored the putrid smell of spoiled food and searched through the cardboard boxes in a determined manner, retrieving half a dozen cans of vegetables, a bottle of wine, and a slim medical kit. Unable to tolerate the smell any longer, I juggled my find in my left arm and turned to look for Libby.

She climbed down out of a pickup truck and shook her head, but smiled suddenly when she spied my loot. With a little shake of her rear, she jogged towards where we had dumped our packs and gathered them up in one hand, rushing towards me. "Nice find. Oh, God. Tell me those are some sweet peaches, oh yeah." Libby yanked open her pack and began shoveling the food inside, pausing when she spied the wine. "Looks like we're going to be able to celebrate. Sometime."

I ignored her playful banter and helped her secure the wine in her pack. If she was careful, it wouldn't bust unless she flopped onto her back unexpectedly. As she rearranged the things in her pack, I took a moment to gather my own thoughts and push away the guilt I felt whenever I saw how thin she'd gotten since the world had gone to hell.

If it hadn't been for me…

With a shake of my head, I pulled my pack up by its straps and slung it into place, motioning for her to do the same. We had been careful to stay off of the road in the recent weeks, but our dwindling supply stash had driven us from the wooded and sometimes swampy terrain to seek out supplies from the vehicles left trapped on the tiny highway. But, I didn't want to spend any more time than absolutely necessary out in the open, and I sensed that she felt the same way.

Best friends since childhood, Libby and I had an odd knack for anticipating the other in just about every situation. We had been there for one another through heartaches and breakups and happier times, like her first marriage to Clark. Oh, they hadn't lasted, but it had been one hell of a bash. When I'd moved away right after high school to go to college somewhere far, far away from the small town we'd always called home, we'd kept in touch. When she and Clark had divorced, she'd visited me in Chicago and had found her second husband, Steve, within days. When she and Steve moved back to our small hometown, I'd finished college and got a job at a busy hospital in Chicago.

Two years before the world had gone to shit I'd left my life and young career behind in Chicago and moved back home, right into my Granny's house, and started life all over again. Granny, in the early stages of Alzheimer's and frail from battling COPD for years, needed constant care. We couldn't survive unless I worked, so I worked sixteen hour shifts, forking over most of my check to pay for the in-house nursing care she needed while I was at work. Then my off time was spent caring for her. Libby, happy as a clam working at her daddy's mechanics shop answering phones and handling the paperwork, got another divorce and decided to give up men altogether. So, a few weeks before the world all went to shit, in desperate need of a break, I begged her to take off from work and go with me on vacation, a real vacation.

Then the reports of a strange strain of influenza creeping across the southwest had begun. We had ignored the reports on the television at first, even when the crackpots in and around the Keys began to board up their homes and businesses, claiming that the end was near. Just before the world ground to a halt, Libby and I decided it would be better to be home in case the flu _was_ some sort of a weird biological terrorist attack – as some of the reporters were wildly speculating. So, we'd packed up and loaded into her old Jeep and headed north.

The busy interstate we'd been on looked a lot like the small highway we currently occupied – bumper to bumper, nowhere to go. We'd gotten about fifty miles past the state line when traffic stopped completely. So, we'd camped out overnight, expecting that the wreck or whatever had held up traffic would be cleared by morning.

But, the world at large had other plans in mind.

We barely escaped the chaos, the madness that overtook the people on the highway when groups of mindless stiffs began to tear flesh from former friends and loved ones without warning. Three older men in an old pickup truck had seen us scrambling out of the Jeep and had allowed us to climb into the bed of their truck. For the first few weeks, we'd all stuck together.

"Iva."

I tensed at the terror in her voice and looked over my shoulder in the direction that we'd originally come from, and immediately felt perspiration bead on my skin. My breathing ragged, I shot her a disturbed glance and felt my body lurch into motion. We ran side by side, each clutching a knife in one hand as we dodged around abandoned vehicles and leaped over debris.

Adrenaline and pure fear kept us going for almost a mile, but by then we were both breathless and unable to run any further. Gasping for breath, we took refuge in the shade created by a large moving truck and sipped from the canteen we shared.

Tanned face flushed from exertion, Libby studied me with a look I knew all too well. I hated that she'd come to rely on me to make the big moves, to make the decisions that a single person didn't want to be held responsible for making in the first place. But, I tilted my head slightly and tried to calculate how much time we'd bought by sprinting from the horde of stiffs.

Before I could make a decision, the sound of rusty doors opening and closing and soft chatter drew my attention to further ahead along the road. Motioning for Libby to stay where she was, I crept forward, hiding behind the side of a car, and watched as an African American male with espresso-colored skin and broad shoulders cursed to himself as he slammed the door angrily.

"Find anything worthwhile?" an older, sunburnt man with a floppy hat and a rifle slung over his shoulder approached the other man lazily. It was clear from their body language that they knew one another. "I found a couple bottles of water. Ain't much, but every little bit helps.

The other man shook his head. "I thought you were on watch, Dale."

"Just wanted to stretch my legs for a minute. Make sure you check the glove boxes, T-Dog."

I watched the man in the floppy gray hat stroll away and make his way through the lines of abandoned vehicles. When he began to climb the ladder at the rear of a small RV, I couldn't help but shake my head in surprise.

"Iva."

I waved Libby forward and we rounded the side of the car together, approaching the lone man cautiously. He was struggling with a rusty door when he heard our footfalls and looked up in alarm, abruptly dragging his forearm across a jagged piece of rusted metal at the same time. I heard Libby cry out in alarm and watched the man lift his hand and point a gun in our direction, but he lowered it instantly when the man atop the RV shouted, "Walkers!"

As the blood gushed from the deep cut on the man's arm, I hesitated for only a moment before sheathing my knife and taking a step forward. He jerked his arm away from me and pointed his gun yet again, but I silently yanked a t-shirt from the backseat of the car he'd been investigating and tore it into a thin strip. That gun was lowered slowly when I began to tourniquet his arm, but I felt his heated gaze on me all the while.

"There's a horde of the stiffs not far behind us," I explained as I tightened the knots. The cut was deep and probably needed stitches, but it would have to wait. "You and your people gotta hide."

His face was covered in a fine sheet of sweat and when he gritted his teeth, I half-expected him to fire that damn gun in his hand. Instead, he jerked his head back towards the RV. "Come on. Come on!"

There was a scramble, people climbing under vehicles or locking themselves inside of vehicles. I jumped on top of a sedan and shimmied up onto the large box truck just behind it, struggling to pull myself onto the flat surface of its roof. When I looked back, Libby reached one hand up and I pulled, yanking until she was lying flat on the roof of the box truck next to me.

Breathless, I pressed my stomach to the hot roof and closed my eyes as the sounds of the teeth gnashing and feet dragging drew ever closer. I reached across and felt Libby slip her hand into mine and squeeze it reassuringly.

All we could do was wait until they passed.


	2. Chapter Two

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Two~**_

Time dragged by agonizingly slowly as I laid there on that hot roof, sweating profusely and struggling to remain perfectly still. The world rumbled with horrible sounds. Teeth gnashing, feet dragging, the constant slow shuffle of the stiffs roaming and searching only for their next meal, their next victim.

Beside me, Libby shifted her weight and I tensed when I realized that she was sitting up slightly to peer over the side of the truck. When she laid back down and turned her head to face me, she smiled and mouthed _Almost_. Almost. The horde had almost gone completely through.

With the sun blazing down, I felt almost delirious by the time the sounds of the shuffling horde finally faded from existence. Wearily, I sat up and peered around, grateful to be able to use my t-shirt to clear away some of the sweat on my forehead. Libby followed my lead, swinging around so that she could slide down the front of the box truck.

Then the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and time slowed to a crawl. I watched a small girl slide out from underneath a vehicle two car lengths away and spied the stiff that shifted directions to shuffle towards her. Before I could call out in alarm, Libby had vaulted off of the front of the moving truck and raced over, knife drawn and ready to protect the small girl.

I jumped down off of the box truck, going loose so that I tumbled when I hit the grassy shoulder. My knees ached from the impact, but I was on my feet and racing towards Libby as she drove the blade of her knife into the eye socket of the stiff, using the heel of her boot to drive him back away from the girl.

"Libs!" I croaked, fingers blindly tugging my hatchet free when another stiff appeared from around the front of the vehicle next to her. Libby spun on her heel slowly, knife-arm swinging, and I saw her mouth fall open in terror when the decrepit stiff latched its teeth into the tender flesh of her forearm and tore away a large hunk of meat. I saw the arterial spray, saw a man roll out from under another vehicle and grab the small girl's arm and drag her away. Then my vision became clouded with red.

I suppressed the howl of rage as I ran forward and kicked the stiff's right knee, sending it to the ground instantly. Before it could gnash its teeth one more time, I brought the hatchet down and cracked open its cranium and rendered it inert instantly.

"Libs." The red didn't fade as she slumped back against an old SUV, her skin pale and her big hazel eyes wide in terror. With a clinical aloofness that wouldn't last long, I surveyed the injury and knew that it would be difficult to stop the bleeding. Once – or if – I was able to manage that, she'd still die from the bite, the infection. Then she would come back. "Oh, God."

People swarmed around us, two men storming forward and helping me to guide Libs to an open area of asphalt. Once she was on her back, I shrugged off my pack, hatchet on the ground next to me, and began to tear open the slim medical kit I'd found.

"It's bad, innit?"

"Nope." Red faded from my vision and I found myself fighting back tears as she clasped my knee with her other hand. "I've got an idea, but you're not gonna like it."

I used alcohol wipes and ignored the people around me for a moment as I cleaned the blade of the hatchet as thoroughly as possible.

"We gotta stop the bleeding," Dale, the man with the floppy hat exclaimed. "But, with a bite like that…"

I looked up briefly, took in the sight of the ragtag group, and shifted so that I had one booted foot planted on Libby's bad shoulder. She gasped and tried to wriggle away, but I put all my weight against her and she stilled.

"Help me hold her down!" I ordered gruffly, surprised when a blonde-haired woman knelt down on the other side of Libby and followed my lead. Her eyes met mine briefly before I focused on Libby's sweaty profile. "There's a chance I can stop the spread, but I'm gonna have to take it off."

"No," she whispered, delirious from blood loss. "It ain't worth it, Iva. Just leave me be."

"I ain't leaving you here, dammit." I eyed the blade of the hatchet and found myself praying that it would be sharp enough. It would take several swings to get through her thin arm, and I wasn't sure that I had the strength necessary to complete the task. "I can't lose you. You're all I got left."

Her lips trembled and I found myself looking up in surprise at a dark-haired man with a three or four day beard crouched on the ground beside me. He held out his hand and I hesitated for a moment before I handed him the hatchet and used a sharpie I'd found in my pack to dry a shaky line across her arm, just below her elbow.

"What if it don't work?"

"It will."

She licked her lips and giggled. "If it don't, I want you to know something."

"Save it." I eyed the man and the hatchet he held with familiarity and slowly nodded my head. "As fast as you can."

"Iva, I-"

It took three hard swings, but she passed out after the first one. The blood splattered everywhere, flecks on my face and my bare arms and my clothes, but I ignored the haunting sensation and watched my best friend's eyes flicker before they rolled into the back of her head at the end of an agonizing wail.

I worked with precise movements, ignoring the ache in my chest as I tightened a tourniquet around her upper arm to cut off the blood flow. Education, experience, and gut instinct guided me, and I pulled the excess skin down over the wound with the intention of suturing it.

"She's not breathing," the blonde across from me whispered hoarsely. I focused on my bloodstained hands and continued my job, mentally calculating how many sutures it would take. Cauterization would be better, but I didn't have the time nor the tools. A tanned hand grasped my wrist and I blinked in confusion at the woman across from me. "She isn't breathing."

"No." Dumbfounded, I pressed a bloodied hand to Libby's chest to find that it didn't rise and fall. Desperate, I sought a pulse and found one, but in the next instant it was gone. "I can do CPR. She's lost a lot of blood."

"Too much blood," the man that had used the hatched explained softly. "I'm real sorry, but she's gone."

Libby's face, serene and normal save for a few flecks of blood, stared back at me as I collapsed onto my knees next to her. I willed those hazel eyes to stare back at me and tell me that it had all been some sort of horrible dream, but she didn't stir.

Rage bubbled inside of me and I balled my hands into fists, eyes blurring with unshed tears as I stared down at my best friend's body. The world around me slowed to a stop and I remembered watching her walk down the aisle – twice – and the first time she'd knocked a boy down in grade school when he'd called me a mean name. It was Libby that had been my protector when we were younger, Libby who had the confidence to stand up and face the world at large.

"She's gone," I whispered, grieved and defeated. "I'm so sorry, Libs. I couldn't save you." If we'd had modern tools available at any hospital or clinic, I knew I could have saved her life. The amputation would have been risky, but she could have had a blood transfusion, pain meds. She wouldn't have suffered such agonizing pain at the very end of it all. "Shit. Shit. Shit!"

The blonde pulled me to my feet and I followed her lead limply, baffled when a gray-haired woman tugged along the little girl that Libby had protected from one of the stiffs. I found myself deciding that the woman was probably one of those unlucky ones who'd gone gray early in life, and stared at her in confusion when tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, shaking her head. "Your friend – she saved my girl. She saved Sophia."

Dark hair, curious eyes, the little girl stared up at me with her head tilted. _Too young_ , I thought. _She's too young for this world_. There was no way the little girl understood what the world had come to since it had ended, but the genuine look of terror on her face made my heart ache.

"Thank you," she whispered softly, eyes searching my face.

I knew deep down that Libby if Libby could have gone back in time to change what had happened, she wouldn't. No, every child was precious, innocent. She would have died over and over again to give Sophia a chance at life. Shoulders slumped, I spun around and stared down at my dead friend.

The man that had wielded the hatchet met my gaze and held up a knife. There was a silent conversation between us before I slowly nodded my head and spun back around, allowing the blonde to guide me. I heard the sickening sound of his knife slicing through skin and bone and – and I just couldn't stand it.

Limp, I collapsed on the ground near the RV, drew my knees up and wrapped my bloodied arms around my legs. Then I laid my head down on my knees and refused to cry.


	3. Chapter Three

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Three~**_

"Thank you," I managed hoarsely as I sipped the water gratefully. Dusk wasn't long off, and I wondered what the group planned to do for the evening. I'd remained in the same spot for over an hour, ignoring them as they plodded along, working together to repair a busted hose on the RV and siphon gas from nearby vehicles for their use. "And for what you did – with Libs."

The man grimaced slightly when I handed him the bottle and I realized that my arms were still covered in blood, though it had dried. My stomach twisted and threatened to cause me to retch, but I fought back the urge and inhaled slowly.

Squatting in front of me, the man didn't seem so intimidating. "My name's Rick, Rick Grimes.

I giggled nervously, appalled by the fact that he could be so normal and civilized under the circumstances. His eyes darkened slightly and I bit down on my lip. "Iva St. John. That is – that _was_ Libby Polk. Thanks for what you did. I don't think I could've done it."

He rocked back on his heels slightly. "T-Dog tells me that you tried to warn our people about the incoming herd of walkers. I appreciate that. We all do. But, what your friend did to save Sophia… That's something we'll never forget. She was a hero."

My lips twitched. I wondered what Libby would have thought about someone calling her a hero and decided she would have basked in the glory. "Thank you for trying to help me save her. If I'd had the facilities…"

"You're a doctor, then?"

"Nurse," I supplied instantly, tilting my head to study the man. "Are you a lawyer? You sure ask a lot of questions."

The blonde from earlier laughed and tossed me a semi-clean towel. "I was a clerk at a law firm. Close enough. Here. You should try to clean up."

Idly, I rubbed at my hands and arms, but focused on Rick Grimes intently. "Do your people have a camp nearby?"

"No."

Squinting, I studied the dirt and dust on his clothes and decided he probably hadn't had a camp in a while. "So you're just the nomad type?"

He frowned. "We're trying to find a place, some place that's safe. We thought we could drive to Fort Benning and we blew a hose on the RV." Libby had the same idea and we'd been angled in that same general direction when – we'd been heading in that direction. "What about you? Do you have a camp nearby?"

I shook my head. "It's been just the two of us for some time now." _Had_ , I reminded myself, chest aching. "We've been in a few camps and it never lasted. Either the stiffs would get past the security we could erect or selfish pricks would hide their bites and scratches and turn on us in the dead of the night. No place is safe anymore."

"And where were you two headed?"

"Home. Tennessee," I whispered, mentally imagining the smell of Granny's house.

Rick stood up and offered me a hand, slowly pulling me to my feet. My vision swam for a moment and I ignored the vertigo as I examined the small safe area that they'd created by circling their vehicles tightly together like an old wagon train heading west. It wouldn't be enough to stop one of the stiffs, as they could get through or around just about anything, but it offered relative safety for the night.

His group was gathered together like a tight little family, clearly familiar with one another and ready to protect each other against any threat. I stared at the little girl, Sophia, and then eyed the brown-haired boy next to her for a brief moment before my brown eyes skirted over the group at large. Nine adults, two children; three women, six men. It was staggering to see that they'd survived for so long.

"You can come with us to Fort Benning," Rick offered gruffly.

"Now wait just one minute." Dark brown, slightly shaggy hair, brown eyes, broad shoulders, tapered waist, firm body. I took in the man's appearance clinically, brows furrowed as I studied the flat slope of his nose, his slightly-too-big ears, his square jaw, the angry tilt to his lips. "Ain't no offense meant, but we don't know shit about this woman, Rick. We gotta protect our people."

I wondered if the tension I sensed between the two men was as palpable as it seemed, but said nothing in my own defense when Rick took a step towards the other man. "You saw what she and her friend did, Shane. They risked themselves for us, people they didn't even know. What more do we got to know?"

"She saved Sophia," the boy sitting on the ground offered weakly.

Shane, as he'd been referred to, dragged a hand through his hair and glowered at me. "We can't just trust every single person we come across."

"He's right," I offered softly before Rick could retort. Clearly, I'd taken both men by surprise. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine. I'll leave first thing in the morning. I'd leave now, but dusk is settling. I don't want to find my way in the dark."

Andrea, I learned her name was, led me into the RV and insisted I clean up with the soap and towels and water she'd left for me. Shakily, I stared at my reflection in the oval-shaped mirror in the tiny bathroom and then deliberately used the rough towel and bar of soap to scrub my arms and hands until I felt nearly prepared to enter an OR.

 _Shock_ , I decided as I studied my reflection again. _You're in shock. Libby just died. You just watched her die. You're in shock and you're not yourself._ But I felt detached, almost _normal_. It terrified me that there was a possibility that I could ever be fine after losing my best friend.

I slumped out of the RV quietly, observing the large group thoughtfully as they pried open cans of food and passed them around quietly. Their redneck security system, I noticed, wasn't half bad. Someone had strung up a long rope in all four directions, each rope holding cans that would jingle against each other if they were disturbed. I didn't notice Andrea anywhere and tilted my head back to see her perched in a lawn chair on the roof of the RV, along with Dale.

"I grabbed your bags," the gray-haired woman offered quietly, drawing my gaze to where she sat next to her daughter. My pack was beside her, appearing as though it had been untouched, and the pack next to it was Libby's. Libby's things were inside, and it made me half sick to my stomach to know that she'd never root around inside of it again, convinced that there was _one last_ protein bar hiding inside. "There's some jerky if you're hungry."

In spite of the fact that I was determined to head out on my own in the morning, something inside of me felt compelled. So, I crossed the distance to the packs, yanked Libby's open, and pulled out the six cans of food we'd discovered just hours ago. I sat them on the ground next to me and froze when my fingers clasped around the bottle of wine – it was unbroken, sealed, ready for a celebration.

Crouching, I turned and shoved the canned goods into the other woman's arms, ignoring her startled expression as I did so. The noise level dropped significantly, and I avoided looking around as I began to re-pack the bags, searching through Libby's dispassionately, ignoring the clothes I knew would never fit and retrieving the jeans and socks and shirts that I could wear. My fingers closed over the fabric-bound photo album she'd managed to retrieve from her purse before we'd abandoned our vehicle, and then the leather bound journal I'd seen her doodling in from time to time. Slowly, I reorganized my pack and tucked her things inside, ignoring her pack and the rest of the items inside.

"We can bury her in the morning."

Startled, I glanced up at the stern face of the very same man that had been so against my remaining with the group and looked down at my pack. "Where is she now?"

"We didn't want any of the walkers getting to her, just in case they got close enough. We put her in the back of one of the abandoned cars. Thought she'd remain undisturbed."

Struck by the thoughtfulness, I nodded my head and tucked an errant strand of brown hair behind my ear. "Thank you. I don't have a shovel, though, and-"

"We've got the tools. We can help."

He crouched next to me and I wondered why he seemed so large, intimidating. "Fine. Okay. Then I'll be on my way."

His dark eyes studied me and I felt as though he could see straight through me, but after a minute he stood back up and walked back over to where Rick was sitting in an old camp chair, a can of food in his hand. The men had a quiet conversation with one another and I discreetly watched them for a few minutes, partially due to curiosity.

Rick stood up and thanked me kindly for the food I'd provided and then insisted I keep all but two of the cans for myself and we settled down quietly around the soft light created by an old camp light in the center of the group.

Using my pack as a pillow, I leaned against the side of one of the vehicles and tried to slow my racing heart. In the morning, I knew, everything would change yet again.


	4. Chapter Four

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Four~**_

Carol tugged on Sophia's hand and the little girl reluctantly allowed her mother to lead her back to the safety of the RV. I watched them disappearing across the grassy field thoughtfully, the contrast of the mother and the daughter so substantial I couldn't seem to drag my eyes away. A moment later, the others began to follow.

The night had passed quietly, thankfully. I'd been quickly introduced to everyone and had curled up on my side next to Carol and Sophia and been surprised when I fell into an exhausted sleep. The morning itself had begun with a quiet breakfast of stale crackers and beef jerky before I'd shown Shane and Daryl and Rick where I wanted to bury Libby. They weren't keen on trekking so far from the road, but I was determined that Libby would have at least a bit of peace in the next life.

Someone, I'd noticed, had wrapped her up in an old, tattered sheet and made sure no blood was showing on her face. It had been a simple little ceremony. Nobody had known her other than me, after all, and once the men had dug the hole they'd gently laid her inside and waited for me to give the signal to start tossing the dirt down on top of her.

Carol had thanked her yet again for saving her little girl, and Dale had given a short little speech about the nuances of life and how he hoped that the woman was in a better place.

"Libby, you deserve so much better than this. It's my fault. I know you'd argue, but it's my fault. At least we had that week of fun in the Keys before the world all went to hell, huh? At least we got to enjoy the beach and the sun before it all went to shit. You were the best friend I could've ever had, and you knew that." I'd trembled a bit, but I hadn't shed a tear. "I don't know how I'm gonna make it now that you're gone, but I've gotta try. For you."

Then they'd covered her with dirt and I'd fixed a makeshift cross made of small branches to mark her grave. I rubbed the pad of my thumb over the delicate necklace I'd strung across that marker, and decided that it would have to do. It was a necklace her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and I'd never seen her go without it. Fitting, I thought, that she should have it always.

Everyone had filed back towards the RV except for Rick, Daryl, Shane, and Lori, and I sensed that they were waiting for me to say something else. But, there was nothing left to say. She was gone. Buried. In a damn better place than what was left of the world.

"Carl?" Lori dragged her hands through her long, brown hair and glanced around anxiously. I immediately looked towards the RV, which was situated about thirty yards away, and didn't see the boy anywhere. "Rick, where's Carl?"

The two cursed and spread out, cupping their hands around their mouths and calling out for the boy. It was Daryl that noticed the broken branches leading deeper into the woods and suggested that the boy had needed to take a piss.

"Lori, go back to the RV. I'll find him." Lori didn't seem keen on moving, and Rick placed a firm hand on her shoulder and stared at her heatedly. "Go. I'll find our boy. I can't focus on him if I'm worrying about you being safe."

She hesitated, her eyes meeting mine and narrowing, before she began to jog across the grassy field towards the RV. I spied Dale on the roof, binoculars in hand, and grimaced as the three men began to traipse towards the woods.

I followed behind them, stepping carefully around branches and limbs, one hand on my hatchet, and studied the area. The woods were fairly thin, sparsely filled with trees and foliage. Daryl had no problem tracking the boy, but it was hard saying how far he got.

It took almost ten minutes to find him, and I wondered how he'd gotten so far so fast. Hadn't his parents been watching him _at all_? When he was spotted, I breathed a sigh of relief and watched Rick race across the few feet between them and yank and pull Carl up into his arms gruffly. Carl was startled but seemed happy to see his father.

Detached, I stood back behind Daryl and Shane and watched the brief reunion with dry eyes. I overheard Daryl muttering about how the kid needed to be kept on a leash as Rick lowered his son to his feet and crouched in front of him, eye to eye.

"You can't do that ever again, Carl. Your mom and I - you scared us."

"I saw a deer, Dad! I was following it and I guess I went further than I meant to." The boy sounded contrite, but the flush on his cheeks made me think he was excited about the wildlife he'd discovered. He could have walked right into one of the stiffs and been gone before Rick or Lori even realized that he was absent. "See? It's over there."

A deer was a familiar sight based on where I came from, but there was still something kind of magical about studying the animal from only forty feet away. It grazed contentedly, a large buck intent on finding food and ignorant of the humans that weren't far away. I couldn't help but wonder if nature had already been regressing, going back to the days when humans were outnumbered by wildlife. Maybe deer no longer feared the hunter.

Rick encouraged Carl to wander closer, and the boy outstretched an arm and walked slowly towards the deer. It was quite the spectacle, and the buck looked up briefly, shook his body, and continued to graze. My lips twitched with a faint smile and Carl inched even closer.

The echoing sound of a rifle firing broke through my reverie, and the deer fell to the ground – as did Carl.

"Carl!" Rick cried as he raced towards his son, Shane quick on his heels. As I charged towards them, I noted that Daryl had raised his crossbow and was studying the woods in the direction that the shot had been fired and focused on the boy lying on the ground. "Carl, talk to me!"

"Don't move him!" I hissed, skidding to a stop on my knees at Carl's side. Rick's eyes were bright with tears and terror and I ignored him as I assessed the situation dispassionately. "He's unconscious. But his pulse is stable. He's breathing. There's a lot of bleeding."

Daryl called out a warning and I watched as a heavyset man in dark pants, boots, a gray shirt, and a vest wandered forward. He had a rifle in his hand and the transparent look of horror on his face was undeniable. "I didn't see him. I swear I didn't see him."

Shane launched himself at the man while I tried to apply a compress to the wound. The bullet appeared to have gone straight through – which was good. Removing it would be difficult. But, there was no telling what kind of damage it had done while it was in there.

"Can you help him?"

I shook my head slowly and hesitated before I met Rick's probing gaze. "If I had the supplies, the light, the facilities? Yes."

The heavyset man ambled forward, breathing heavily. "My people. There's a doctor. He can help."

"How far?" Shane demanded gruffly. "Where's your camp?"

"We're on a farm not far from here. About three miles, maybe four." He pointed back in the direction from which he'd come and wiped a hand over his sweaty face. "It's a big farm, you can't miss it."

Rick hesitated before he scooped his son into his arms and stood up. "Let's go. Let's go!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth as he eyed the heavyset man.

"I'll get the others," Daryl offered, to my shock.

My pack was back at the RV – all I had on me was my weapons. But, my instincts screamed for me to help get Carl to safety, and I followed them. "You." I pointed at Otis and his eyes widened. "You're sticking with him, just in case. Come on, Rick."

We broke out in a jog, leaving Shane behind to jog back to the farm with Otis. Logistically it made more sense to go as a group, especially since we only had the rough directions that Otis had provided, but Carl needed help – fast.

Only a few minutes passed before I spotted the first stiff. I didn't bother slowing down, merely pulling my hatchet free and running beside it, clobbering the back of its head with the sharp blade and dropping it before it noticed us. In spite of the weight he carried, Rick kept up with the brutal pace, legs pumping as he nestled his injured son against his chest. With any luck, he would live.

I calculated based on my aching lungs and burning legs that we were paced to manage an eight minute mile run time, but would it be enough? The run kept me occupied with four more stiffs, though they noticed us before I noticed them and I almost ran smack into one. Rick cast a worried look in my direction and I noted that Carl's color was very pale, but his lips hadn't turned blue – maybe he was still breathing.

The farm Otis had spoken about appeared out of nowhere – a well maintained drive fenced off from intruders caught my gaze and we pushed the gate aside and put it back in place before we raced up the gravel drive. Another quarter of a mile later, lush greenery came into view; we'd found the farm.

Rick pounded towards the farm house and I studied it as I jogged towards it, nearly breathless. In another time, before people had begun to try to eat one another, it looked quaint and idyllic. Now… I wasn't sure.

"Help me!" Rick shouted hoarsely, obviously out of breath from our trek. I skidded to a stop beside him and tucked my hatchet back into its sheath to study the boy in his arms.

"I found a pulse. Little thready, but it's there," I offered as the screen door slammed open, drawing my attention to a man with a shotgun in his hand.

"Help me! Otis said there was a doctor here!"

"Otis?" the white-haired man repeated, brows furrowed in confusion. "Where's Otis?"

"He's inbound, but we raced ahead. Are you the doctor friend?" I asked calmly, pushing down my own bubbling nerves. The older man nodded his head once. "Otis shot a deer – it went straight through and hit Carl. Luckily, it seems to have gone straight through the boy, as well. He needs immediate medical attention."

The shotgun in his hand was immediately put aside as two women spilled out of the house, watching the scene with interest. "Bring the boy inside. Come on!"

I charged up the steps behind Rick, nearly tripping over my own feet as we were ushered inside. The world blurred around me as we were led into a bedroom on the first floor and the man ordered Rick to strip off Carl's shirt and place him on the bed. I watched the man scrub his hands and then open a black bag, the iconic doctor's bag, and retrieve a stethoscope and a thermometer.

"He's burning up. Has he been bitten?" he inquired conversationally as he checked the boy's eyes for pupil response. "He's responsive, which is a good sign. But, based purely on what I see, he's in need of surgery."

"Do it."

The man pursed his lips and I found myself the object of his intense scrutiny. "I can patch him up, but chances are he's going to need surgery. I don't have the supplies."

Rick hesitated for a moment before he nodded his head. "Please, do whatever you can. Save my boy."

That's how I met Hershel Greene.

* * *

 **A/N:** "Carl, get in the house!" meme is a go.


	5. Chapter Five

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Five~**_

It took almost fifteen minutes more for Shane and Otis to arrive at the farm, the heavyset man struggling and red-faced with every step. I folded my arms over my chest and pushed off of the railing I'd been leaning against and walked down the porch steps to meet Shane.

His dark eyes were wide with trepidation and I knew he expected the worse.

"He's stabilized for now, and it's a waiting game. Rick's inside giving blood. Rare blood type," I added when Shane lowered his combat shotgun warily. "Hershel is doing all he can."

Shane rubbed a hand over his face and nodded glumly. "He a good doctor?"

"He's a vet." Shane jerked his head up abruptly and eyed the woman warily as she stalked down the steps in an angry manner. "My Daddy's a vet, but he knows what he's doing."

"Shane, this is Maggie Greene – Hershel's daughter. That's Patricia, she's Otis's wife." I jerked my thumb toward the older blonde haired woman that raced into her husband's arms. They spoke in quiet tones and I wondered if she was telling him about Carl's prognosis. The screen door opened quietly and a small-boned, delicate young woman with fine blonde hair and big eyes scrambled outside nervously. "And that's probably Beth, if I'm keeping the names straight. Her boyfriend's around here somewhere. Ah, there he is," I jerked a thumb at the dark-haired young man that rushed over to his girlfriend's side.

But, Shane focused on that screen door and seemed torn between rushing inside and catching his breath. I noticed Maggie watching him nervously and I nodded in her direction.

"Your people. Where are they?" Before I could open my mouth, Shane rattled off the exact location of the group on the highway and Maggie nodded her head in understanding. "That ain't real far. I'll go get them. They should be here."

"Carl's mom," Shane began gruffly, "Lori should be here. You're right. Thank you."

I trudged back up the steps and sat down on the top one, shoulders sagging. Patricia had assisted Hershel with the patch job and I felt useless, wringing my hands together. Shane dropped down on the step a feet away from me and cradled his head in his hands.

When Beth went inside and returned a few minutes later with glasses of _actual_ lemonade, I burst out laughing. Shane jerked his head up and glared at me angrily and refused the glass for a moment. "What in the hell's so funny, Iva? You lost your damned mind?"

"Lemonade. People are eating each other and southern etiquette demands that lemonade or tea be offered. Perfect." I tipped the glass back and drank greedily, ignoring Shane when he took his own glass and downed the contents without a word. Relieved, I offered Beth the empty glass and quietly thanked her. "Much appreciated. I didn't realize how thirsty I was."

She tucked both glasses under one arm and hurried inside, Jimmy close behind. A moment later, Otis and Patricia awkwardly climbed the steps together and also went inside, leaving the two of us staring after Maggie as she raced off on a horse. She disappeared from sight after a minute or two, and I could only hope that she could find Rick's wife and the others quickly.

Birds chirped, pigs in the distance rutted in the mud, cows trampled over the tall grass, and I even heard chickens. All sounds I'd missed since the world had gone to hell.

"Is Carl really gonna be okay?"

I considered the question for a long moment before I quietly answered, "I don't know. There's no way to tell if there's any internal bleeding or injury without doing an exploratory surgery, since we don't have the equipment we need. And surgery is out of the question at the moment." I rubbed my palms together and studied them. I'd scrubbed them clean of Libby's blood, but I could still feel it coating my skin. I'd even cleaned under my nails, but I found myself wondering how much remained that I just couldn't see. "We're going to need supplies that we just don't have if there's internal bleeding. Then – then I don't know what."

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before he exhaled raggedly and I found myself studying his profile.

"Been a helluva day."

"Yep, that it has." It had started with him helping to dig a hole to bury my best friend. My heart wrenched at the thought and I pushed the heartache aside. "If we had a map of the area, we could try to figure out what places might have the supplies we need."

Inspired by the idea, Shane rushed up to the screen door and knocked loudly on it before he yanked it open to disappear inside. A few minutes later, he reappeared with Otis on his heels. The two men worked together to spread out a large map on the wooden porch floor, careful to keep the edges pressed down. Otis leaned over the map and Shane squatted next to it; I spun around and peered over at the map curiously.

"Well, there ain't a whole lot nearby, to be honest. I know that a FEMA station was set up here, at the high school." He jabbed a thick finger at the map, indicating an area just outside of the small town. "County high school," he added. "Kids from the nearby communities all went there. I only been by there once and it was completely overrun."

Shane sighed. "But, if FEMA set up a station there, there'd be medical supplies, right?"

It took me a moment to realize that Shane addressed the question at me. "Without a doubt, assuming that they didn't evacuate before they were overrun, there would be supplies. But, when you combine a FEMA station and a high school, all bets are off. I've seen places like that – I don't know if you have. They're so full of the dead that it's impossible to manage."

With a curse, Shane motioned to the small town a few miles away. "What about here?"

Otis rubbed his chin. "Well, there is a small pharmacy, but I don't know what sort of supplies they'd carry that Hershel might need. He might have a better idea – he went there fairly often to pick up his wife's medication." I briefly wondered what had happened to Hershel's wife before I studied the map more intently. It was a highly detailed area map, so it was easy to decipher. "There's not much in town, it's real small, you see."

"There's a dollar store, a post office, a small diner. What's this?" I asked, pointing to an area that was just outside of town, the opposite direction of the high school. "Factory?"

"No. Uh, tractor supply store. I ain't been by there in weeks. Last I saw it was pretty empty."

Lips pursed, I considered the options for a moment. "If the pharmacy, or the town, isn't completely overrun, it should be checked first. Depending on if it's been hit or not, we might find enough to make due."

"And if not?"

"If what we end up needing isn't there, then I suppose the FEMA station will have to be braved." I closed my eyes for a moment and recalled with vivid detail the last FEMA camp that I'd seen. It had been overrun with stiffs and I'd watched three people die trying to get the food and water and medicine that we expected was somewhere within that camp. I opened my eyes and studied the map again. "The tractor supply store would be a good place to hit up for supplies, too. Lot of those places carry weapons and ammo, tools that might be useful. Might have dry goods, at least cases of water."

Shane studied me silently for several moments before his lips quirked into a half smile. "That's good thinking. We'll file that away for later." He cocked his head towards Otis and the heavyset man cringed under Shane's assessing gaze. "What about doctors' offices, places like that?"

Otis studied the map more intently and then scratched at his closely-shaved head. "Well, there is one in town, but I don't know that there'd be any supplies."

"Worth a check since it's near the pharmacy," I added dryly.

Patricia appeared at the door and waved her husband inside, leaving me studying the map with Shane. He tugged a red sharpie out of his back pocket and began to mark the places on the map where he obviously planned to visit. I could almost see the wheels grinding away inside of his head as he mentally calculated risks, routes, backup plans for backup plans.

"What were you before all this?" I inquired. "You seem to know what you're doing."

He rocked back on his haunches and shoved that sharpie marker back into his pocket. Then he offered me a wry look that could only be perceived as sarcastic. "Deputy sheriff."

It clicked then – the close bond he obviously shared with Rick Grimes and his family. "Based on his hat and shirt, guessing you two worked together? Partners?"

"Yeah, known each other for years." But that didn't explain the tension between the two. Maybe the end of the world brought out the best and the worst of people at the same time. "You really think Carl's gonna be alright?"

My bedside manner had always been exemplary. Patients had always loved me, and had asked after me whenever my shift was over and they were left with another nurse. But, something about the end of the world made it hard to lie and placate.

"I don't know, to be perfectly honest. He's in rough shape, but I think he's in good hands. Hershel might be a vet, but his hands were steady and his eyes were clear. Sometimes you just know," I added when he lifted a brow in query. "You've got backup plans for your backup plans. If the pharmacy and the town is as clear as your buddy Otis claims, then checking the pharmacy won't take much time."

He slowly folded up the map and tucked it into his back pocket, then sat back down on the step next to me. In silence, we stared at the horizon and waited for news that might never actually come. I could only hope that the kid would pull through and that he'd make a full recovery. Somehow.


	6. Chapter Six

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Six~**_

Aloof, I stood in the corner of the bedroom and watched as Lori clutched her son's hand and silently cried, her lips moving as she spoke to him in quiet murmurs. He didn't respond, didn't flinch, didn't even squeeze her hand. But, she was determined to keep vigil.

Hershel had explained the boy's injury to his mother when Maggie had returned with Lori, and Lori had taken it all in stride. She'd thanked Hershel profusely and he'd seemed taken aback by the woman's obvious gratefulness, but had left me in the room with her should she have any further questions. She'd seemed oblivious to the fact that if Carl wasn't improving in the next few hours, he'd need serious surgery – or he'd die.

When she abruptly looked up and met my gaze from across the room, I felt cornered. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks red and wet. And she looked so broken that my chest ached at the sight of her.

"This surgery he needs. Can you do it?"

Lips pursed, I exhaled. "I'm not a doctor-"

"No, you're a nurse," she interrupted. "Can you help him with the surgery? Why aren't you doing it now?"

I slowly crossed the room and stood directly beside the chair she occupied near her son's bed. She never let go of his hand as she stared up at me, but I could see the fiery determination in her gaze. "It's not as simple as that. The supplies necessary aren't easily available."

"Then get them."

I lifted a brow at her tone and shook my head. "It's not as easy as that, Mrs. Grimes."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's Lori."

"Lori," I repeated softly. "Your son is currently in very critical condition. Hershel is doing all that he can. But, the supplies needed for serious surgery aren't currently at his disposal. But, Shane has a plan."

"Shane?" she whispered in confusion.

I followed her gaze and realized that the man in question was standing in the open doorway, a blue hat with the word _Police_ written across it clutched in his hands. "The others are pulling up now, Lori. Otis is going to take me to that FEMA camp at the high school." I opened my mouth to object and he shook his head decisively. "Hershel said that at this rate Carl definitely needs surgery, and I'm gonna get those supplies."

I turned on my heel. "I'll go with you."

His eyes widened in surprise and he hesitated for a moment before he shook his head. "No. You need to stay here. Patricia is just his veterinarian assistant; you're an actual nurse. If something happens, you're the best qualified to make sure Carl's gonna be fine."

"But-"

"I'll be back. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Lips pursed, I studied the way that he stared at Carl's sleeping form and then the way his eyes darkened when he looked at Lori. There was more history between them than I could ever understand, and I couldn't help but wonder how long they'd known each other. Presumably a long time, since Shane and Rick had worked together.

"Shane," Lori whispered. He shoved his hat on top of his head and set his jaw. "Be careful."

I followed him out of the room and watched him shove the screen door open and jog down the steps of the front porch. He gathered his gear and checked his ammunition for his shotgun and his two pistols; meanwhile Otis was speaking in low tones to his wife.

I noticed the RV, a small SUV, and a black Jeep parked in the front yard, some ways away for privacy, it seemed. Rick spoke to Hershel in low tones in the living room area, and I overheard bits of their conversation. Rick was insistent that Hershel allow the group of people to stay until Carl was better, pleaded and begged, said that they would do chores and help fortify the farm in exchange. When Hershel caught my eye, he reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

Rick, still a little pale from giving so much blood to his son, charged out the front door and pounded down the porch steps. He stopped to give Shane a gruff and short hug before he jogged across the grassy front yard to where the others were slowly piling out of vehicles.

"Your people are welcome to stay while the boy recovers," Hershel explained to me conversationally.

I lifted a brow. "These aren't my people. I just met them yesterday." His eyes widened and I was the subject of his intense scrutiny for a few moments before he shook his head in disbelief. "I get it. You don't know them, you don't know their intentions. You've got your own family to think of. Before you make up your mind on the matter, I hope you'll give them a fair chance."

With that, I pushed open the screen door and hopped down the porch steps, pausing only long enough to double check that Otis had a weapon other than his rifle. He pointed awkwardly to the machete sheathed on his hip and I jerked my thumb towards Shane.

"You two be careful and come back in one piece. Did Hershel write up a list of things he wants?" Otis handed the crumpled sheet of paper to me and I looked over it twice before I nodded in agreement and handed it back. "This will do. Take extras of anything you recognize to be pain medication or antibiotics. Might need them."

As the rest of Rick's group arrived near the front porch, Shane and Otis jogged toward an older model pickup truck and climbed inside. Rick quickly explained Carl's injury and prognosis and the importance of the supplies that Shane and Otis hoped to retrieve. Dale seemed particularly perturbed by the whole situation and asked if someone else should go with them to retrieve the supplies, but Shane waved them off and the truck did a quick three-sixty, slinging dirt and gravel, and went tearing down the drive.

I glanced at my watch and set a timer for three hours. Based on the distance to the school and Otis' proclamations that the roads were clear, if they weren't back in three hours I thought it safe to assume that they wouldn't be returning. Hershel stepped out onto the porch and Rick quickly made introductions, careful to praise the man and compliment his family, home, and farm. I spied Hershel's eyes narrowing as Rick praised the man so thoroughly, but he didn't dare interrupt.

In fact, at the end of Rick's short, heartfelt speech, Hershel cleared his throat and addressed the group with a small smile. "I pray that God finds it in His power to keep young Carl safe and sound. We are doing our best. I also pray that Otis and your Shane return safely, with the supplies we need. Until then, keep young Carl in your prayers." Andrea snorted and shook her head, arms folded defiantly over her chest, but Hershel persevered. "I welcome you to my home, and hope that you will be comfortable here until Carl recovers."

"Is there anything we can do to help out, Mr. Greene?" Carol implored quietly.

If Hershel was surprised by her forwardness, he didn't let it show. "Actually, yes, ma'am, there is. The garden around the back of the house needs weeding. There are tomatoes, peppers, beans – could use some picking, and that would give your people some fresh food. It isn't much, but-"

"That's more than enough, Mr. Greene. Sophia, come on." She tugged on her daughter's hand and I watched the two disappear around the side of the house. After a moment's hesitation, Glenn trailed along behind them.

T-Dog, I noticed, appeared quite uncomfortable with his surroundings and stood with his arms folded over his chest, lips pressed tightly together. The bandage on his forearm was dark and I slowly walked towards him. He frowned at me when I motioned to his arm, but reluctantly held it out for me to examine.

As I pulled the bandage away, I grimaced. "This doesn't look good." I turned his arm to the left and then the right, studying the long, jagged wound. "The bleeding's stopped, but I don't like the colorization. It's red, draining improperly, and you look a little off." I looked over my shoulder to find Hershel standing on the porch steps, staring in my direction. "Do you have any prescription antibiotics? He needs a round of them."

Hershel shook his head. "I'm afraid that what I have I already gave to the boy. I do have some over the counter medication. It could help reduce the inflammation and would help with the pain. I'll get it for you."

I watched him disappear into the house and studied T-Dog's arm again. "When they get back with the supplies, we'll take a look at this. Keep hydrated and be sure to let me know if you start exhibiting any strange symptoms."

"You mean if I start eating someone's face?" he inquired wryly as he tugged his arm free.

"No. I mean high fever, vomiting, diarrhea, hallucinations – that sort of thing. If you exhibit those other symptoms, I'll just take a hatchet to your chubby little face." His eyes widened, but then he slowly grinned. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I looked around at their vehicles and tried to envision how they planned to set up camp. "Please tell me that someone grabbed my pack."

For the next hour and a half, I helped set up their camp. I knew that at least a couple people would use Dale's RV, and wasn't surprised that they had multiple family-sized tents available as well as screen houses, meant for placing over picnic or eating areas. We set up the tents and decided on an area under a large tree that would be ideal for the cooking and eating area, setting up the screen house there. Daryl helped by stringing up two thin ropes between two trees as a makeshift clothesline, and then disappeared with the promise to bring back dinner.

Rick wandered down to the campsite when we'd finished, surveying the spacious area thoughtfully before he sat down next to the rock-rimmed pit we'd dug in anticipation of using it for the fire. "Carl's sleeping, but his fever's spiking."

I used a stiff bristle broom to sweep off the tarp that was laid out on the ground connecting the tents and the RV and the eating area. It wasn't quite like a carpeted floor, but people could go barefoot if they wanted. When I realized that Rick had been speaking to me, I paused, chin resting on the handle of the broom, and studied him.

His shoulders were hunched forward; his face was drawn in despair. He looked defeated.

"Shane and Otis ain't back yet."

I glanced at my watch and saw that they had an hour and fifteen minutes before the three hour mark. "They've still got time. FEMA camp – it's probably overrun. But, Shane seems capable."

"No one more capable, I don't think." He squinted up at me and I began to sweep again. "In my line of work, you get to really know people when they're in a high pressure situation. Most people crack – you don't."

"All part of the territory, I suppose. You and your boy – you didn't need my help getting here. As fast as you were going, you could have outrun any stiff you came across. But, I didn't want you to have to worry about one of them managing to get close enough to either of you two."

"Well, I appreciate it. You've done a lot for us already. Sophia, Carl… You bandaged up T-Dog, too." I noticed he didn't comment on the fact that T-Dog's wound was likely seriously infected, but I didn't interrupt. "I know you were planning on heading out this morning, before things all went to hell. But, I hope you'll consider sticking around."

"At least until Carl is in the clear, right?" I inquired, prompting him to smile. "All things considered, I had planned on it. I couldn't in good conscience leave until I was certain he was going to be fine. Not when there's a chance that I might be of some use. Once that time comes, I think we can go from there."

He nodded in agreement and we came to a quiet understanding. The way he watched me guardedly left me with no doubt that he didn't fully trust me, but I certainly didn't trust him or the rest of his group. When the world had ended, that natural human instinct that we'd forgotten about as we evolved had reared its head once again: it was every man for himself.

Rick excused himself to go sit with Carl and Lori and I finished sweeping off the tarp before I leaned the broom against the side of the RV. The door swung open and Dale hopped out slowly, peering around curiously before he noticed me standing nearby. A smile slowly transformed his face.

"When they rolled out the tarp, I picked up your pack and sat it inside." Saying so, he reached in and grasped my pack by one strap and dragged it out to hold it within my reach. "Here you go."

The weight was a familiar one, and I thanked him quietly and set about unpacking the small, lightweight, tent that was packed carefully inside. One of the men from a camp we'd stayed at had given it to me in exchange for a couple jugs of water, claiming that it was an expensive, high-quality tent. Given that it was only large enough for one person, included two connecting poles and several straps, I hadn't expected much. But, the bargain had been worthwhile. Altogether, poles and straps and tent included, it only weighed four or so pounds. And once I got it set up under the shade of a nearby tree, just far enough away from the other tents to have a degree of separation, I was certain I'd be at least reasonably comfortable.

I was struck by the sudden realization that I wouldn't be sharing the tent with Libby any longer when I went to unroll my thin sleeping bag. Dejected, I tugged it free from the weatherproof lining of the top of my pack and unrolled it, pushing it across the tent so that I could shove my pack in beside it. All of my belongings, I realized, fit inside a space not much larger than a dog house.

I zipped up the tent, dusted my palms off on my legs, and stalked back towards the fire pit area. Carol smiled at me as she focused on rinsing and peeling vegetables before slicing them to place them in a large bowl. "Thought stew would go the furthest," she supplied, leaning forward on the old cooler she used as a seat.

Daryl reappeared with two large rabbits – thankfully he'd field dressed them so it took no time for him to dump the hunks of meat, bones and all, into the cookpot. He dumped several armfuls of firewood nearby and I crouched beside him, helping to arrange the firewood so that it would catch quickly and burn for a long time at a steady heat.

A few minutes later, Carol positioned an old grate over the fire pit and sat the cookpot on top of that, adding a few small leaves. "Peppermint?" I inquired, and she nodded. "That might add some interesting flavor. The squash looks good considering the time of year." She stirred the rabbit around with a long wooden spoon and soon the smell of browning meat filled the air. "I haven't had rabbit in a few weeks. They always wriggle out of my snares."

Sophia settled down on a small chair near the fire, a doll in her hands. I watched her for a few minutes and thought it was curious that she talked to her doll and played make believe, but perhaps all children were the same way. The group, I decided when Andrea pulled up a chair next to me, was complex at its core.


	7. Chapter Seven

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Seven~**_

It was late by the time I sat down on the old couch in Hershel Greene's living room with a bowl of lukewarm stew in my lap. I was completely exhausted from assisting – sometimes guiding – during the surgery. It had taken three full hours of intense, high pressure surgery to find and correct the source of the internal bleeding. Rick had unwisely donated more than his fair share of blood to help supplement what Carl lost during the surgery, but it had gone remarkably well overall.

Stifling a yawn, I scooped up some of the stew with a large spoon and greedily devoured half the bowl's contents within a few minutes. My stomach cramped angrily at the realization that I'd had nothing since my meager breakfast, which felt as though it had been days ago rather than hours ago. Slumped forward, I slurped at the stew and chewed the rabbit meat and vegetables thoroughly, wringing out every ounce of flavor that I could before swallowing.

I heard light footsteps and looked up to find Beth watching me with a soft glint of worry in her eyes. "Is the boy going to be alright?"

"He's going to be just fine, I think. Your dad went upstairs to clean up and get ready for bed." She shot a look up the stairs and then towards the kitchen. "You might want to make sure he eats. He's probably exhausted."

She scurried into the kitchen and left me alone to finish my meal – alone to let my thoughts wander. When Shane and Otis had returned with supplies from the FEMA camp, Hershel had acted quickly. He'd asked me to assist and we'd prepared for surgery speedily; thankfully Patricia had already sanitized the small room off of the room where Carl had been sleeping, so we could move him there for the surgery itself. I'd noticed that Shane and Otis had been strangely quiet and the tension between the pair was confusing. Something had happened, but neither said anything about it before I rushed into the small room to assist Hershel with Carl's surgery.

Fatigue laced my bones, and it took considerable effort to push myself to my feet and stumble into the kitchen. Beth eyed me nervously as I dumped my bowl and spoon into the sink, but remained quiet when I waved farewell and strode towards the screen door.

A figure on the porch drew my attention, and I paused near him to study his profile as he stared out at the small campsite. He'd showered and changed since he'd returned from the FEMA camp, I'd noticed, and there was a pang of envy in me. I could only hope that Hershel might be kind enough to allow me to shower in the morning.

"He's alright?"

"He's fine. He's going to be out of it for some time, at least a day or two. Recovery itself might take a couple weeks, but he's going to be fine. You did well."

I felt his gaze on me when I hopped down the steps and stalked across the grass to the small camp area. I was almost to my tent when I realized that it was the first time in weeks since I was completely unarmed, and I felt unsettled. Nervously, I unzipped my tent, steadfastly ignoring the others, and ensured that my belongings were inside before I zipped it up and strode towards the dying fire.

Sophia and Carol were absent, Glenn was atop the RV's roof keeping watch, but the others were seated quietly around the fire. T-Dog passed me a bottle of water as I sat down in an old folding camp chair next to him and Andrea watched me with a thoughtful gaze.

"He's going to be okay," I announced quietly, though I could only assume that they'd already heard the good news. "He made it through the surgery and his vitals are good. It's going to take a bit for him to recovery completely, but right now I think his prognosis is excellent."

It was T-Dog that exhaled a sharp breath of relief. "Good. Kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I glanced back at the farmhouse and saw a lone figure sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. Shane, perhaps? "Did they say what happened when they went for the supplies?"

Andrea shook her head. "Shane said that the place was completely overrun with walkers. The FEMA camp was only accessible if you went through the school, so they weren't aware how many damn things were in there until they were heading back out."

"Shane used a couple road flares to distract them, but he said it didn't last long," T-Dog added.

I leaned back in my chair and sipped my drink. "Well, at least they made it back. They didn't get bit, did they?"

"No, of course not. Shane would have said something."

"Are you sure, Andrea?"

"You don't know our people," she countered with a shake of her head. "So stop assuming that-"

"I'm not assuming anything. I was just curious if anyone had asked them if they got hurt. Shane was standing funny. I think he hurt one of his legs." Her eyes widened and she looked away immediately. She either felt guilty for not noticing or for not asking if he was okay. "I'm just glad that they made it back. But, while they found plenty of morphine, they couldn't find much in the way of antibiotics. The pharmacy in town is going to need to be searched tomorrow. How's your arm?"

T-Dog shifted his arm once before he winced. "It ain't bad, but it could be worse. Burns, and I feel about half sick, but I kept dinner down."

I passed the water back to him and he stared at it for a second before he tipped it back and emptied its contents. With a wry smile, I shook my head. "Stay hydrated and get plenty of rest. This place seems very idyllic. Did anyone scout around?"

I wasn't at all surprised when Daryl gave the lay of the land in simple terms. "Fenced area all around. Got woods on three far sides, fields as far as the eye can see in the other direction. Be better to get eyes up high to keep watch, but should be able to see a walker coming from damn far off."

So, it was relatively safe. I hadn't experienced relatively safe in a very long time. "Are we taking turns on watch?"

"We got it tonight, Iva. Thanks though," Andrea added quickly. "You've done a lot already. Go get some sleep; we'll wake you up if anything happens."

I could only pray that it would be a restful night, so I said my farewells and climbed to my feet and shuffled over to my tent. Toeing off my boots and sitting them on the floor just inside, I crawled into the tiny tent and zipped it up behind me. Firelight cast a soft glow on the side of the tent, providing just enough illumination from its position to make the small tent feel almost homey. I shimmied out of my jeans, folded them tightly and sat them on top of my pack, and crawled into my sleeping bag. A moment later, I grabbed the jeans and tucked them under my head to use as a pillow.

I'd expected to toss and turn and be plagued by the constant replay of Libby's last few minutes, instead I drifted to sleep almost instantly and slept deeply.


	8. Chapter Eight

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Eight~**_

The road into town was mostly empty, only a few cars and debris littering the road. I wasn't entirely certain how much protection the soft top of the Jeep could provide, but I enjoyed the sensation of the wind rustling through my hair as Shane expertly maneuvered the vehicle around wrecked vehicles and piles of detritus.

The morning had started out calmly. I'd taken the time to stop and check on Carl before taking advantage of the Greene's bathroom facilities so that I could take my first real shower in over a week. Maggie had shared the eggs she'd collected from the henhouse and we'd dined outside quietly, eating scrambled eggs laced with green peppers and mushrooms.

It had been Shane that reminded the others that more supplies were needed if they hoped to remain at the farm for the next week or more while Carl recovered – before they headed to Fort Benning. Maggie had offered to take someone to the pharmacy in town; as a vet's daughter, she thought she could recognize the types of drugs we might need. I'd started to volunteer when Glenn spoke up, leaving me to offer my assistance to Shane when he offered to check out the Dollar General store.

That's how an hour after breakfast, I found myself sitting in Shane's battered Jeep, cruising down the road. One hand on the wheel, the other draped across the open window, he seemed confident and calm as he maneuvered down the roads he'd memorized after studying the map. As he focused on the road, I mentally reviewed and reassured myself that I was as prepared for the day's events as I could possibly be. Armed with my hatchet, my handy knife as well as a spare tucked into my boot, and my .38 caliber handgun and extra ammo, I felt confident that I had a fair chance of making it back to the farm.

Shane slowed the Jeep to a crawl and made a right turn onto a street that led straight through town and I tapped my fingers on my knee.

"Just how bad did things go at that FEMA camp?"

His knuckles whitened and he shot me an irritated look before he focused on the road. "Not so bad that we didn't make it back, but bad enough."

"I hear you used road flares to distract the stiffs," I offered conversationally. "That's good thinking, especially at night. They're attracted to light and sound, sometimes smell. Why did Otis seem so nervous around you?"

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and then loosened it, clenching and unclenching until I thought he might punch the dash in frustration. "There came a time when we were at the brink of it being me or him – then he got nervous and got off a lucky shot that caused the bleachers in the gym to electronically retract. It distracted the walkers and we got out."

"And if he hadn't gotten that lucky potshot off?"

"Had my gun on him, pointed straight at his leg. He would've slowed them down, given me a chance to get the supplies out and back to Carl." He slowed the Jeep to a stop and we stared at one another in silence for a few moments. "I would've, too. Had my finger on the trigger, had already told him why I was gonna do it."

My lips twitched. "Then I would say that Otis is a lucky son of a bitch then, huh? Don't look so shocked. We've all been in the do or die type situation since this all went down. If it would have come down to getting the supplies back or leaving Otis behind, I would've done the same thing. He shot the kid, after all."

Silence reigned as the Jeep rumbled back to a decent speed, carrying us through the outskirts of the small town and finally into the heart of it. Cars were abandoned and the diner's windows were boarded up, but the streaks of blood across the plywood left me doubting that anyone was surviving inside. The town itself was small, no more than two long blocks of small shops, a post office, a diner, a hardware store whose door had been ripped free from its hinges, a small library, and a couple mom and pop shops.

"Small town USA," I murmured to myself as he eased into the empty parking lot of the Dollar General. I studied the windows and noted the thick layer of dust and grime and found myself hoping against all sense that it might actually be mostly untouched. "We should find a way around back, don't you think?"

Shane put the Jeep into gear and we crept around the side of the Dollar General in the wide drive that separated the building from the resale shop next door. There was a box truck abandoned in the rear of the Dollar General and the dumpster looked as though it had recently housed a fire, but otherwise things seemed calm.

"Front or back?" Shane inquired as he put the Jeep into park and pocketed the keys. He reached for his shotgun and I hopped out of the truck, quietly shutting the door behind me as I went. "Back it is."

As he stalked toward the closed door, I found myself shaking my head. There was no doubting that Shane Walsh's former career had been in policing. He carried himself with confidence, pride, authority, and I felt comfortable following behind him, hatchet in hand. When he found that the door was unlocked, he glanced over his shoulder at me and yanked it open, stepping to the side so that I could face whatever might come out.

When nothing immediately appeared, I rapped the handle of my hatchet against the metal doorframe and waited. The sound of gnashing teeth and dragging feet grew louder and I winced as I took a step back and pulled my knife free from its sheath, clutching it in my left hand. The stiff had been an older man when he'd turned, dressed in his Sunday best. I grimaced as I brought the blade of the hatchet down on the side of his head and he crumpled to the ground. Just moments behind him, a young teenage girl dressed in a skimpy top and skirt, barefoot, lunged towards me. I drove my knife up into her head from the left side, driving it home and rendering her inert immediately.

"Head's up," was the only warning I got before a flannel-wearing man that was probably over three hundred pounds lunged towards me. Shane brought the butt of his shotgun down and delivered a devastating blow to the man's head, causing him to drop to the ground near the other two. "Should be cleared out now."

A bit winded, I nodded and stopped long enough to clean the blade of my hatchet off on the fat man's flannel before I followed Shane into the store. It was one of the newer stores, and though they hadn't been cleaned off since the end of the world, the skylights scattered across the store provided enough light to illuminate the back room of the store and beyond.

We entered into the storage area and the employee lounge wasn't far off. Ensuring that no stiffs waited within, I nudged open the unisex bathroom with my boot and sighed with relief when I found it empty. I heard Shane shut the heavy back door and we were alone in the entire store.

He slung the strap of his shotgun around so that he could walk unimpeded throughout the store. I hesitated for a moment before I sheathed my weapons, nervously tugging my hair back into a tight ponytail before I followed after him.

"Store's been hit real hard, but there's still some things we could use." He pushed aside some candy on a shelf and picked up a can of green beans. "Load up as many carts as you can and we'll see what we can fit into the Jeep."

I bypassed the rows of food and clothes and stopped near the personal hygiene area. Shane could say what he wanted, but we needed more than cans of green beans. I snagged a yellow cart and swept my arm across the shelf, dumping toothbrushes, toothpaste, tampons and pads, shampoos and conditioners, and soaps and lotions into the cart. Once I was satisfied that there were enough boxes of tampons, I studied the contraceptive area.

"Got grand plans for the apocalypse?" he inquired dryly as I grabbed box after box and tossed it into the cart. I glanced over my shoulder to find that he was a few feet away, standing behind the register where the locked case held cartons and cases of cigarettes. I grinned in reply and continued to dump boxes and packages of condoms into the cart before I pushed it towards the paper section. Then I dumped several packages of toilet paper inside. "Got a preference on what brand of menthols?"

I parked the cart near the entrance to the back room and grabbed another. "Don't smoke. Nurse, remember?" I shot back as I stopped near the small hardware area. "Jackpot." I dumped rolls of duct tape, electrical tape, two hammers, a couple sets of pliers, several utility knives, four flash lights and five large packs of batteries, and three-ply twine into the cart. Task complete, I paused near the home section and hesitated for only a moment before I shoved a couple thin, but good quality and warm, blankets into the cart.

When I pushed the cart towards the back room, I noticed that he'd filled one completely with canned and boxes of food and another was half full of cigarettes and candy. With a roll of my eyes, I decided to investigate the back room.

Pallets of supplies, stacked chest high were scattered around the back room. I studied the cardboard boxes, noted that a lot of the stacks were wrapped with cellophane, and read the descriptions curiously. I bypassed the box of wipes and the box of diapers and grinned when I spotted the huge box of Rice. Using my knife, I cut through the cellophane and sliced open the top of the box to peer inside. It contained six dozen boxes of various flavors of rice. The salt content wasn't ideal, but the carbs would be welcome down the road. I tucked my knife back into its sheath and hefted the box into my arms and dropped it onto an oversized two wheel dolly that was parked near the exterior door.

For the next ten minutes, I continued to search the back room for other viable options. I found a case of peanuts, a case of saltines, beef jerky, and an entire case of canned tuna fish. By the time I'd stacked the boxes on top of the others on the two wheel dolly, I felt satisfied that we had found more supplies than we could have ever anticipated. In fact, I wasn't entirely certain if we would be able to fit everything into Shane's Jeep.

"Damn." I spun around on my heel, one hand on my hatchet, and exhaled slowly when I realized that it was only Shane. We had three carts full of supplies and five large cases of supplies – a damn good haul. "What'd you find back here?" I rattled off what I'd found and indicated the two wheel dolly. He rubbed his chin. "Good finds. Might take more time to load shit up than I expected."

"We could come back, if it comes down to it."

We argued for a moment before we decided that it made more sense for him to load the supplies into the Jeep while I kept watch. The fifteen minutes that it took to organize the three carts worth in boxes and bags and fit them into the Jeep along with the boxes were tense. I stood on the hood of the Jeep, Shane's shotgun in my grasp, and searched for any sign of danger. He was quick and quiet, so I was almost certain that the noise wouldn't draw any of the stiffs, but it was better safe than sorry.

Wrapping the remaining supplies in a dirty tarp, we left them sitting near the dumpster where an onlooker might mistake them for random debris. When I noticed the dirt and grime, and a few flecks of gore on my hands, Shane shook his head. "Water's runnin', let's clean up."

As I followed him back inside the store, I found myself picturing the looks of surprise on everyone's faces when we returned with the motherlode of supplies. Smiling, I shut the heavy exterior door behind me and finally allowed myself to relax in the slightest. It had been successful morning already.


	9. Chapter Nine

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

 **Chapter Content Warning:** Naughty bits ahead.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Nine~**_

Shane scrubbed his hands with tepid water and soap and then I took my turn, spending almost five minutes scrubbing and digging under my nails. Once I was satisfied, I dried my hands off on the towel near the sink in the employee break room and straightened my shoulders. The tall counter that ran the length of one wall was mostly empty save for a microwave at one end and a number of different plastic trays that were once used to organize papers.

I hopped up on an empty section of the counter and caught the bottle of room temperature soda that he tossed in my direction. After a quick glance at the label, I tore the cap off and guzzled at the bubbly contents greedily. Shane grinned at me before he tore his own open and downed half its contents in a few gulps.

"Found some bags of peanuts up front." He tossed me a bag of salted peanuts and I tore them open and munched happily. Breakfast seemed like weeks ago, and my stomach was thrilled with the rush of caffeine and sugar and the salty snack. Shane leaned against the table in the break room, his shotgun laying across the table's surface, and watched me as he lazily munched and sipped. "There's probably more here that we overlooked. Might be worth a return trip."

"Without a doubt," I agreed immediately. "If we brought a truck, we could get a lot into the bed. I didn't see any sleeping bags, but there are a lot of sheets and blankets. It seemed like your people might need those when the weather gets cooler."

"My people," he repeated, drawling. His lips twitched when I tossed a peanut up into the air and caught it, legs swinging joyfully. "You slipped right into the groove real easy, Miss Iva." He finished off his drink and crossed his legs at the ankle. I followed the long line created by his dark fitted jeans and the gray button up shirt he wore and found myself sipping my drink yet again. "I didn't want you to even stay the night, you know."

I frowned in acknowledgement. "I know. I didn't exactly want to stay either, but by then it was already dark and I didn't want to risk going out alone again." _Plus, I'd just lost Libby_ , I thought to myself, a little melancholy. It felt as though she'd been gone forever, but I'd just watched them dump the dirt over her body twenty-four hours previous. My hands shook as I finished off the last of my soda and tossed the empty bottle into the nearby wastebasket, but I refused to let the emotion overtake me. "Rick asked me to stick around for now, at least until after Carl's healed up." I lowered my lashes and watched him anxiously. "That going to be a problem?"

Shane tilted his head to the side and studied me silently, dark eyes assessing. "We gotta protect our own, and you ain't one of our own. But, you helped save Carl's life. For that, I think you should have a shot. The only reason we've gotten as far as we have is because we stick together. No matter what. Us over them."

"Them being the dead?"

"Everyone." His dark eyes narrowed and I leaned back, legs swinging slightly. "This world ain't like it was before. You wanna live, you gotta fight for it."

The silence was almost stifling. "Couldn't agree more. I was in a couple different survivor camps, including two set up by the National Guard. Most people aren't going to make it in this world now. I learned that real fast."

"We had a good place set up near a quarry," he offered conversationally. "Wasn't the safest place, but we had security measures. Thought we were good. We weren't." I frowned and wondered how many people had been in their group before things had gone from good to not good. "I'll do what I got to in order to keep my people safe."

"And by your people do you mean Carl and his mom and Rick? Or are you including everyone?" I challenged softly.

His eyes narrowed. "Rick and his family are _my family_. Known 'em for years."

"Okay."

"But, Dale and Andrea and the others? They're part of this group; they're mine to protect, too."

"Good."

He shook his head. "You like to rattle my cage, don't you?"

My lips twitched and I grinned. "A little bit. I can tell I bug you, and you kind of bug me. I would like to stick around to make sure Carl makes a clean recovery before I duck out, but now that it's just me I'm not so certain I want to go back out there on the road. At least with Libby things were almost manageable. The thought of being out there alone…" I shuddered reflexively and my stomach immediately seemed very displeased with the soda and peanuts I'd ingested so very recently. "But, I don't stay where I'm not wanted."

The topic was quickly changed and we discussed the logistics of the supplies we were taking back to the farm as well as the things we thought might still be useful scattered throughout the store. Shane shook his head when I told him he'd overdone it with the candy and cigarettes.

"You're the one that thought loading up on rubbers was necessary."

I lifted a brow. "We might not live long enough to have to worry about contracting some dangerous STD, but getting pregnant during the end of the world? No thanks. It might be the end of the world, but hormones and needs still exist. Men might not care, but I'm sure the women back at the farm will be relieved."

He smirked and ran a hand through his hair. "Is that so?"

"The human race has been forced back in time hundreds of years in terms of what technology we have available in a lot of circumstances. Women might very well die in childbirth, if they even live that long. So, carpe diem, why not?" I tugged a foil packet of my pocket, where I'd tucked it after I'd opened one of the boxes before I'd tossed it into the cart. "Right?"

Those dark eyes of his glared at the packet clutched in my fingers and then scrutinized my face for three beats before he was a figure in action. He crossed the distance between us with two long-legged strides and I groaned when his hands dove into my hair, fingers tangling and pulling it free from the elastic that kept it pinned back in place. Our eyes met and held for a long moment before he slanted his lips over mine and took and took until I was lost.

Feverishly hungry, I dropped the package on the counter next to me and let my hands roam over his shoulders before I tangled my fingers in his thick hair. It was soft, a little damp with sweat, and I was able to tug him closer so that he stood between my legs. His lips were hungry, demanding, and I nipped down on his lower lip before he plunged his tongue into my mouth seductively. Oh, there was no doubt about it: Shane Walsh knew exactly what a woman wanted.

When he shoved one hand under the hem of my thin shirt to cup one breast over the fabric of my bra, I moaned against his lips. It had been so long, too long, and the friction created from his thumb brushing over the fabric was almost intolerable. He yanked the cup of the bra down, freeing my breast from its confines, and palmed it in his hand greedily.

"Goddamn," he moaned as I arched back, his mouth traveling to my cheek, behind my ear, finally settling against the side of my neck. He found that perfect spot, licked and nipped and finally closed his mouth over my skin and my toes curled. "Like that, do ya?"

Too far gone to care, I didn't argue when he tugged me off of the counter and attacked the clasp of my jeans. No, I kept my hands on his shoulders and gritted my teeth as I toed my boots off, struggling for a moment because they were laced so tightly and the sheath of my secondary knife made my right boot a bit tighter around the ankle. As I kicked them off and they slumped against the floor, he shoved his hand down the front of my jeans, cupping me over my panties. My fingers dug into his shoulders when my knees threatened to give out, and he smirked at me before he began to disarm me.

My hatchet landed on the table with a _thunk_ , followed quickly by my gun and knife and small flashlight. Then he unbuckled my belt and I didn't hesitate before I shimmied out of the tight jeans, eyes on him as he watched the denim skim down over my thighs. Jeans in a pile on the floor, I grinned when he rested his hands on my waist and lifted me up and sat me down on the counter.

His hands were greedy, searching, and I let him look and explore at his leisure as he tugged my shirt off and pulled the other cup down to free the second breast. My fingers worked at the first couple buttons of his shirt, and he finished the task, shrugging it off effortlessly before those lips trailed over the rounded crest of my cleavage and finally drew one nipple into his mouth. Sighing, I ground my hips against his and loosely wrapped my legs around him, keeping him between my legs as I explored his chest and shoulders and back, now bared, with my hands.

We were both lost in the sex-crazed haze and my fingers were trembling when he pulled the gun out of his waistband and sat it down on the counter beside me. He tackled his belt buckle and jeans, unbuckling them and lowering the zipper and freeing his impressive erection. Mindless, I watched him tear open the package and sheathe himself in latex and felt his fingers digging into my hips, but was still somehow startled when he pushed my panties aside and was able to bury himself to the hilt with a single, hard thrust.

Vision swimming, I groaned and shifted my body, angling my hips so that he could achieve the best penetration possible, and dug my heels into the backs of his thighs. There was a desperation to our movements, a carnal hunger that left no room for sweetness or even an attempt at romance. It was hard, fast, and rough, and I had no doubt that I'd have bruises on my hips and lower back the next day – but I didn't care.

A quiet squeaking sound interrupted my lust-filled mind and I dug my nails into Shane's shoulder. "Did you hear that?" I inquired breathlessly, hips rocking as he continued to thrust roughly. I stared over his shoulder, dark eyes searching, and found nothing out of sorts. "Shane, I-" my words were cut off when he fused his lips to mine, plundering and taking and bruising.

As I crashed into that beautiful oblivion and felt my inner muscles clutching around his cock, I cried out against his lips. Dangerous and heady euphoria cruised through my system, a liquid warmth that made me feel loose and limber as he continued to thrust, pivoting his hips and drawing out my orgasm until finally he stiffened. His fingers digging painfully into my flesh, Shane thrust in sharp, short strokes and stilled completely, his muscles taut and his breathing uneven.

We'd worked up a serious sweat, and I trailed my fingers over his damp chest as he leaned back, his eyes holding mine as he slipped out of me, reaching down with both hands to slip off the condom and tie it in a knot before he slung it into the nearby wastebasket. A little loopy, I found myself smiling stupidly, fingers trailing over the tattoo on his pectoral muscle, until I heard the familiar sound of a shotgun being cocked.

Trapped on the counter between Shane and the door, I stared over his shoulder in terror at the tall figure that stood on the other side of the table. His red beard was long and shaggy, his face dirty and his clothes worn. His jeans had numerous patches in them, his boots looked more appropriate for a job site than the break room of a Dollar General, and the ragged pack on his back was riddled with holes and tears.

"I'm real sorry to be interrupting, _cher_ , but I'm afraid that this ain't gonna wait." His voice was laced with an accent, one that oddly reminded me of the Bayou, and the smile he flashed made my skin crawl. At some point, either before or after the end of the world, he'd been an abuser of drugs. Shane stayed perfectly still, his hands still in front of him, and his eyes narrowed in anger. "Now I see you all have been so kind as to load up some much needed supplies. I'll be taking those keys, _cher_."

I purposely glanced down at my jeans on the floor and then met the man's eyes. Wholly exposed, I discreetly tried to tug down my shirt but he bared his teeth in warning. "Jeep was here when we wandered by. We were gonna try to hotwire it, if it even has fuel," I added evenly.

He laughed, the sound cold and forced. "Now, I know dat ain't the truth. I ain't stupid, _mon ami_. I saw you two cruising into town while I was searching that diner. Where's your people? You got a camp?"

"Nope. Been on the road, just the two of us."

The shotgun lowered slightly before he adjusted his grip and shook his head. "Ain't no way. Where's your camp at, huh? You got some place safe?"

"Look, we ain't got-"

"I'm not talking to you, _homme_!" the man shouted angrily, spittle firing out of his mouth venomously. "Me and the _belle femme_ , we was having us a chat." He grinned and I inhaled slowly as his dull eyes ravaged my exposed body from afar. "Be just as well you ain't got no place then, no people. All those supplies – I show up with them _and_ you and I'll be the new boss. You're a little older than the boys like, but you got a body on you, _non_? Mmm. The willing ones make it all the better." _I'm only twenty-eight_ , I thought to myself, instantly even more disturbed by the man and his intentions. "Now come on, give me them keys, _cher_ , and we'll be going."

I met Shane's gaze and saw the tense muscles in his neck, the vein throbbing on his forehead. He was beyond enraged, and I knew he was pissed to have been caught, quite literally, with his pants down.

"Now, girl!"

As I slowly reached into Shane's right front pocket with my left hand, I used the shield that his body provided to rest my right hand on the gun laying on the counter beside me. I heard the keys jingle, saw the dirty man's lips twitch greedily. My fingers closed over the gun and I inhaled as I tugged the keys free, waiting until the man's eyes focused on my left hand before I exhaled.

I jerked my right arm up, took a split second to steady the weapon, and fired. The sound was massive, echoing in the break room until I was certain it would bring every stiff in fifteen miles to our location. As the man limply dropped the shotgun to the floor, a red spot began to blossom on his upper left arm. Howling, he slapped his right hand over the bullet wound and stared at me fearfully.

" _Mon Dieu_. I'm so sorry, _cher_. Please, please, just let me-" his words were cut off when I squeezed the trigger again, the kickback making my wrist ache. The bullet struck him in the chest and he slumped to the floor instantly, eyes glazed over before he hit the ground. I heard a few strangled gasps, and then the room was silent.

Shaken, I felt my arm slump down and I stared at the gun clasped in my hand for a moment before I watched Shane's fingers tug it out of my grasp. He quickly straightened up, tucking himself back inside of his pants and doing them up, belt included, so that he could tuck the gun back into the waistband of his jeans – safety on.

"You a'right?" he asked angrily, dark eyes searching mine. When I didn't reply, he cursed under his breath and pivoted on his heel to stalk around the table and crouch next to the man's unmoving form. I watched in a detached manner as he checked for a pulse and, finding none, drove the blade of his knife through the man's eye socket. When he cleaned the blade of his knife on the man's shirt, he explained, "Might've been bit."

My pulse settled, I tugged the cups of my bra back into place, covering my breasts before I straightened my panties. My shirt was within reach on the counter, so I quickly slid it on over my head and pulled my hair free, pausing long enough to tug my hair up into a loose ponytail that I secured with an elastic band.

"Here ya go."

I hopped down off of the counter gingerly, wincing a bit as I took the jeans Shane offered me and shimmied into them, tugging them over my legs as quickly as possible so that I could zip them up and button them. When I felt his eyes on me, I looked up, fingers working at my belt. "Thanks."

We were quiet as I pulled on my boots, unlacing them before I could get them on. I double checked the knife in the sheath in my right boot before I laced up the boots, tying them tightly. When I stood up, I saw Shane sliding his arms into his shirt and buttoning it up, his eyes watching me. Once again my eyes were drawn to the gold chain around his neck and the golden number twenty-two that hung from said chain, but I didn't say a word.

I tucked my hatchet into its sheath as well as my handgun, exhaling with relief when I was once again armed. Feeling safer, more secure, I tucked my shirt into my jeans and licked my swollen lips. "No chance of him coming back, right?"

Shane grabbed his shotgun from the floor, ensured that a shell was loaded and ready, and nodded. "He ain't coming back. I'm gonna drag him outside. If he'd had buddies with him, they'd have been in here by now. Cover me?"

My fingers trembled a bit as I pulled my gun from its holster and preceded him outside, ignoring the sound of the heavy body dragging across the floor. I didn't hesitate to open the door, eyes sweeping the lot as I stepped out into the hot sunshine. Shane followed me, dragging the man by his arms until he could toss him into the pile of stiffs we'd left not far from the door. Task complete, he heaved a huge sigh of relief and our gazes locked.

"You good?"

My lips twitched. "You mean am I okay after getting my brains fucked out and having a guy pull a gun on me? Or do you mean am I okay after killing that guy rather than letting him take me back to his camp?" I lifted a brow in challenge and waited for him to reply, but he said nothing. I shoved my gun into the holster on my belt and forced my fingers to curl into fists and then unclench. "You said it yourself, Shane. You have to fight to survive. Would he have walked away without shooting one of us, just taking the supplies?" I shrugged. "Maybe. More than likely, though, he would have shot you the moment you turned around. I've seen men like him before. I did what I had to do."

"I know," he agreed. When he grabbed me by my belt and jerked me towards him, I stumbled forward until I slammed against him. "Next time, we'll be sure to bar the damn door. You ready to go?"

 _Next time?_ I found myself thinking as his eyes roamed over my face. Then he spun on his heel and stalked towards the Jeep, leaving me to follow in his wake. _Oh, yeah. There's going to be a next time_ , I decided as I climbed up into the Jeep, muscles aching.


	10. Chapter Ten

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Ten~**_

We were hailed as heroes when Shane lowered the tailgate of the Jeep and the others were able to see how much we'd scavenged from the Dollar General. As Glenn and Daryl helped Shane unload the supplies, I helped Lori and Carol organize the belongings on the large wooden picnic table they'd found in the backyard – Hershel, they'd said, had encouraged the women to take it for the group's personal use.

I sat down on the bench and watched the two women sift through the candy and cartons of cigarettes and saw Lori's eyes widen in shock. "Are you planning an end of the world orgy, woman?" Lori demanded, her tone playful. Carol peered over her shoulder and her eyes bulged. "Tampons, too. Good. We'll need those."

"Should we keep everything together in one place, you think?" Carol inquired as she studied the haul.

I shook my head. "I don't know, but probably not. It might be better to have a boogie stash ready, just in case you have to split quickly. Maybe keep an emergency supply in each of the vehicles." Shane dropped the case of canned tuna fish on the table and rested his elbow on the cardboard box. "Are you planning to offer some of the supplies to Hershel and his family, Lori?"

Her eyes darkened for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders and pushed her long brown hair back over her shoulder. "It seems only fair, since he's letting us stay on his land and they've given us a few things. We should see if they could use any of this."

"There's more where this came from," Shane promised as Rick strolled up to the picnic table. Rick's eyes widened in disbelief as he looked over the haul, pausing long enough to unwrap a Tootsie Roll pop and pop it into his mouth. "We left some supplies outside by the dumpster, under the tarp. But, there's more to be had inside the store."

"We could make one hell of a meal tonight, for everyone. You should ask Hershel if we can use his kitchen tonight, Lori."

But Lori didn't seem so sure that was a good idea. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind, Carol. Go ahead and ask him."

I watched Carol juggle two cans of peas that we'd managed to scavenge, her eyes alight with laughter. "I think it would be best coming from you. You're kind of the unofficial First Lady and all, being Rick's wife." After a moment's hesitation, I nodded in agreement. The show of support seemed to galvanize Carol's thought process, as she quickly forged ahead. "I would love to actually cook in a real kitchen again, and Patricia told me they use the generators an hour or two every day to do the washing and cooking, and to make sure the fridge stays cold enough."

I continued to sit at the picnic table and observed while Glenn and Carol and Daryl organized the supplies. Lori promised to talk to Hershel and wandered towards the farmhouse – I couldn't help but notice that both Rick _and_ Shane stared after her for a moment too long. Daryl teased Glenn about the overflowing supply of contraceptives and I noted the blush on Glenn's cheek when he thumped Daryl on the arm and helped him carry a box of supplies towards the RV.

Once they were out of earshot, Shane rested a booted foot on the bench across from me and leaned forward, arms braced on his knee. Rick noticed his stance and pulled the sucker out of his mouth. "I know that look, Shane. What happened?"

In detached and clinical terms, Shane relayed our entire outing including his first impression of the small town and the exterior of the Dollar General. When he explained the presence of the unknown assailant, he wisely glossed over the details and insisted that we'd been taken by surprise while going through supplies.

"We forgot for a minute that the living still know how to sneak up on you. You can hear the dead coming, but the living know how to muffle their arrival," I offered dryly. "Shane's handgun was within reach and since he was between me and the other man, I had no choice but to take the shot. It was us or him."

Rick's face looked pinched as Shane relayed the man's words, his obvious intentions, and the tense situation. "You did what you had to do," he finally agreed, voice cracking a bit. "But, we gotta remember: we don't kill the living. There's too few of us."

"Couldn't agree more," I nodded, causing Shane to snap his mouth shut in surprise. "The dead outnumber us and it's impossible to tell how many people are left in the world. We know we're not it, but chances are there are just packs of people scattered throughout the world – likely in the more rural areas. But, I'm going to protect myself by whatever means necessary. I'm sure you'd have done the same in my position."

But Rick didn't seem so sure. Those dark eyes of his studied me intently for a few moments before he shook his head. "I'm glad you two weren't hurt. I'll be sure to tell the others to be careful when and if they go into town. If that guy was telling the truth, he might be camping with other people somewhere nearby. Don't want any confrontations."

After Rick walked away, I finally relaxed. I appreciated his point of view, but he didn't strike me as being wholly realistic when it came to the ways of the world since the dead had started eating one another. Shane shook his head as he watched his friend's retreating back, then eased a hip onto the picnic table, feet on the bench, and faced away from me.

I hesitated for a few seconds before I scooted off of the bench and began to fill a small cardboard box with supplies. I felt his eyes watching me; no doubt he was looking over his shoulder at me. But, I ignored him as I tucked as many supplies as I could manage to fit into the small box. It wasn't much, but I could just fit the box in my pack if I was careful, and it would be enough if I had to leave in a hurry.

My cheeks flushed when I shoved two forty count packs of condoms into the box. As I strode towards my tent, I heard Shane chuckling under his breath. As anticipated, the box _just_ fit inside of my bag, so I pulled out the three sets of dirty clothes with the intention of washing them before shoving the box down into the bottom.

When I crawled out of the tent and zipped it back up, I immediately began to walk towards the farmhouse. As I trekked through the tall grass, I made sure that my hatchet, knife, and gun were still in place – though I knew the moment Hershel saw me he would ask me to remove my weapons in his presence as he had the day before. Maybe he wouldn't notice me.

I hopped up the steps and knocked lightly on the screen door before I slipped inside. "Mr. Greene? Hello?"

He walked out of Carl's room, shutting the door behind him. As he wiped his hands off on a white towel, I leaned against the antique side table against the wall. "Miss St. John. How may I be of assistance?"

"I was just making sure Lori had a chance to tell you about the supplies we were able to scavenge." His brows furrowed and he glanced back towards the closed door before he nodded his head. "There's more left, and we'll probably make a return trip soon. Oh, and Carol-"

"Yes, Lori already asked about preparing dinner, and I find myself unable to disagree. It would be a pleasure for us to all share a meal together this evening." He slowly folded the towel into a tiny square before he dropped it on the table I was leaning against. When his gaze traveled down, I shifted my body so that he couldn't focus on the gun strapped to the left side of my waist. "I can't in good conscience accept stolen goods into my home, Miss St. John."

"You've given me leave to call you by your first name, so please call me Iva," I implored with a shake of my head. "And I get where you're coming from, but I don't think this qualifies as stealing. The world as we know it has been altered, likely irrevocably. Now it's a matter of survival."

"Thou shalt not-"

"I know," I interrupted, frustrated. "And I think that still stands when it comes to the living, Hershel. Whatever's happened to the world, whatever's caused people to come back in this manner, I don't think it can be fixed. I won't steal from another person unless I'm starving, but we have to survive. Would you rather allow the supplies to rot and perish?"

He frowned. "This illness that has-"

"I am a nurse. You're a vet." I lifted a hand and then immediately lowered it to my side. "We both know that this isn't something as simple as the flu. This goes beyond anything in medical history. What's happened should be _impossible_ ; but it's happening. We have to think beyond what we _want_ to be the truth and focus on the here and now."

"The here and now being a group of people camping out on my front lawn, you mean?"

Lips pursed, I tilted my head to the side and tried to get a good reading on the man in front of me. He struck me as religious based mostly on the Christian decorations in his home and his scripture quoting, but he also seemed leery and realistic.

"I am sure that Rick and the others feel indebted to you and yours for your generosity, Hershel. 'Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God'. Hebrews 13:16. Don't look so surprised, old man; I know my scriptures, too. Raised a proud southern Baptist by my Mama, God rest her soul."

He smiled wryly and I knew that I'd just won some small battle. "Very well. The boy is recovering; I'm sure that's the real reason you were looking for me, after all. He woke up for a few minutes when his mother was speaking to him. I think that he needs to remain on bed rest for the next week, but he's going to recover nicely."

"Good. He strikes me as a good kid." Hershel seemed confused, and I hesitated for a moment before I explained the circumstances. "Two days ago now – wow, it's only been two days – I was traveling up the highway on foot with a friend. A large herd of the dead marched towards us and we quite literally stumbled across T-Dog. We hid near the rest of Rick's group. It seemed like it took ages for the wave of them to wander past. And then, towards the end, this little girl crawled out from under a truck and Libby, my friend, saved her. She got bit in the process," I added quietly.

"I am sorry to hear that. I have seen the effects of the bites."

"It took such a huge chunk out of her that there was arterial bleeding, but I thought I could save her life if I amputated her arm. She lost too much blood. Died right in front of me." I looked away and focused on the closed door that locked me away from the Grimes family. "We were burying her when Carl wandered off – and you know the rest."

Hershel seemed very troubled and empathetic, but didn't offer to console me in any manner. "I am sure that Rick and his friends are grateful for your assistance. Forgive me for assuming that you had been part of their group for a long time. I went simply on observation; you all work together quite well. Please remind the others that come dinnertime, I would appreciate them not bringing weapons into my home."

He nodded in farewell and began to jog up the stairs, leaving me staring after him for a few moments. Once I heard an upstairs door open and close, I sighed with relief and closed my eyes. The last two days had been absolute chaos, and I could only hope that things would calm down. Perhaps a large group dinner would mend fences and increase the likelihood that Hershel would be more willing to allow the group to stay through the winter months.

One could hope.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Eleven~**_

I leaned against the counter in the kitchen and watched Carol, Lori, Patricia, Maggie, and Beth work together to prepare dinner. Two chickens had been slaughtered and plucked and roasted outside on the fire pit in honor of the large dinner, and the women worked fluidly to prepare creative sides. I'd helped gather greens and dandelions, all edible, for a salad. But, that had been the extent of my assistance.

Sipping my glass of wine, I folded one arm over my chest and looked towards the formal dining room where the others were gathered, chatting quietly with one another. Then I saw Andrea standing just outside the back door on the back porch, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I pushed the screen door open and stood beside her, a few feet between us.

"Not enough room in the kitchen for all of us," I offered conversationally. "First big meal I've had in weeks."

"Same here. Though we used to sit around the campfire at the quarry together. Sometimes we'd have a good meal – depending on if Daryl or his brother got lucky hunting or if Amy and I…" she trailed off quietly and I saw her facial features morph into grief. "Sometimes we had fish."

When she offered me a drag off of her cigarette, I shook my head and declined. "I don't think I've met a single person since this all happened that hasn't lost someone. I'm sorry."

"Baby sister," she offered quietly. "Last night at the quarry, our camp got taken by surprise. Amy was walking out of the RV when a walker – it happened quickly. I stayed with her until she changed. I shot my baby sister."

I didn't know Andrea well enough to be able to speculate whether or not a hug would be appropriate, so I didn't offer her any physical comfort. I listened and I offered consolation with my presence. "I am sorry that you were forced to do that. Were you the protective big sister?"

She laughed dully. "Ironically, we weren't even all that close until this happened. I miss her though. She was the one person I could always count on to watch my back, and now I don't have that."

"You and Dale seem close," I suggested. She explained how circumstances had brought her, Amy, and Dale together. "I guess not everybody has the cookie cutter family like the Grimes, huh?"

Andrea laughed again and took a drag off of her cigarette. "We found Rick in Atlanta – a couple of us were in the city on a supply run. He was holed up in a tank like an idiot and Glenn took it upon himself to help him. I guess not long before the world went to hell, he was shot in the line of duty. Was in a coma. Shane went to the hospital to check on him, there were walkers everywhere. Until Rick showed up, Lori and Carl thought he was dead."

"That couldn't have been easy."

"Especially not since Shane and Lori were fooling around and-"

"Andrea," a voice interrupted quietly. I looked back and spied Carol at the door, her eyes hooded and her smile thin. "We are putting dinner on the table. Why don't you two come on in here?"

As Andrea put out her cigarette, I mentally reviewed what she'd just shared. All I could think was that it certainly explained the tension between Shane and Rick; it also explained why Shane continued to send probing glances in Lori's direction. Was Rick even informed about what had occurred, or was he blind to the transgression? I followed Andrea into the kitchen and discreetly examined the people gathered around the large dining table.

Rick appeared warm and loving towards Lori, who sat next to him. But when she glanced down the table to where Shane sat, something _accepting_ crossed Rick's face that left me doubting that he was ignorant of the brief affair. No, he knew. He knew and he'd accepted it and was ready to move on. Maybe the end of the world made divorce more difficult?

Hershel sat at the head of the table and Maggie sat at his right. Otis and Patricia reined at the opposite end of the table, and I hesitated for a split second before I pulled up a chair between Glenn and Andrea. Silverware clinked and Rick tapped his ring finger against his wine glass, causing the noise level in the room to drop to nearly nothing. Once everyone had settled, he rose to his feet.

"I guess I just want to thank you, Hershel Greene. You saved my boy's life, but more than that you opened your home to us. The world out there… I think you're real lucky that you haven't been subjected to the horrors of the world." Lori tugged on his hand and Rick immediately smiled yet again and forged ahead. "We are eternally grateful for what you did for our son. I know that the supplies that were gathered today aren't enough to show that gratitude, but we want to help around here in any way that we can. That being said, thanks Hershel."

Everyone toasted and just before we were about to sip our drinks, Rick cleared his throat again. This time I was the subject of his intense scrutiny. "And I can't leave Iva and Patricia out. Shane and Otis, too. You all played an integral part in making sure that my son would be here today. He woke up today and smiled at his mother. That right there… No words can ever thank you enough."

We toasted one another again and sipped our drinks quietly, the tension in the room building until Hershel carved the chicken with precision. Platters and bowls of food were passed around the table; conversation picking up again once people had food to occupy their thoughts. I studied the tuna casserole curiously before I ladled a good helping onto my plate, along with fire roasted peppers and tomatoes and squash, as well as a small serving of chicken and corn. They'd even managed to prepare cornbread, and I popped a piece into my mouth and savored the buttery flavor.

Glenn shifted in his seat in a nervous manner and gulped down a great deal of white wine, his face flushing from the effects of the alcohol. When he tried to pour more wine into his glass, he nearly overfilled it.

"Hey, go easy there," I urged, sliding the bottle out of his reach. I refilled my own glass and saluted him cheerfully. "Hey, what's got you down?"

He glanced down the length of the table and gulped before downing the rest of his wine. In turn, Maggie shifted in her seat, her own cheeks slightly flushed, and spoke quietly to her father. _Interesting_ , I thought to myself as I sipped my wine.

"So, you made your own run today, right? I never did get a list of the supplies you were able to recover from the pharmacy."

"Uh."

"Keep drinking, Chinaman. I wanna see just how red your face gets," Daryl teased.

Glenn lifted his chin in challenge and slurped down some more wine before he focused on the piece of chicken on his plate. "Shut up, you redneck," he threw back playfully. The group dynamics were somewhat interesting but it was hard to get a good reading on some of the interrelationships. "I'm Korean."

When Sophia nearly knocked her glass of water over, Beth reached over and stroked her fingers over the small girl's hair. "You're a little bit smaller than my brother was before he got sick. The world is a scary place. Sometimes I think it would be better to go to sleep and never wake up."

"Mama…" Sophia whispered quietly as she flinched away from Beth, towards Carol, a frightened look on her face.

"Beth," Hershel admonished. "You're frightening the young girl. If you cannot act appropriately at the dinner table, with our guests, I think that it would be best if you went upstairs to your room."

"Daddy-"

"Come on, Beth. I wanted to show you something," Maggie interrupted as she pushed her chair back. I watched Beth slowly rise to her feet and shuffle towards the stairs, Maggie close behind her. And though they were discreet, I noticed the small piece of paper that Glenn pressed into Maggie's hand when she passed by him. "I'll be back down in a few minutes, Daddy."

Once the sisters were upstairs, the noise level at the table increased yet again. I studied a piece of chicken and speared it with my fork before I popped it into my mouth. It was succulent, probably the best piece of chicken I'd ever had. No. I poked at the tuna fish casserole and decided that it was my stomach that insisted it was the best piece of chicken ever. Nobody could ever top Granny's fried chicken – no doubt about it.

 _Libs, if only I'd been faster_. If I'd followed directly behind her, instead of staring after her in confusion for a few seconds, I would have had her back. I would have killed the stiff that had eventually taken her life. Sophia would have been safe and maybe Rick and his group would have still been so grateful that we would have stayed the night and chased Carl through the woods and eventually ended up at Hershel's farm. _I miss you_ , I thought to myself, grieved afresh by the loss. She would have liked Rick's group, had she had a chance to get to know them.

T-Dog shifted his arm tenderly and sipped on his wine, but didn't touch his food. "I didn't get a list of the supplies that were found at the pharmacy," I announced again, drawing his attention. "Were you guys able to find any antibiotics, Glenn?"

"I am sorry that I did not remember the wound on your arm," Hershel murmured as he sat his fork down next to his plate. "I can see that you're uncomfortable."

Glenn quickly pulled a folded up sheet of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table beside us. I scooted it closer to me and scanned the scribbled list of supplies quickly. "Good. Assuming you don't have any allergies, there's more than enough for a round of Cephalexin. Where are the supplies?" I inquired, looking around the dining room speculatively.

"Patricia and I stored most in the small room off of Carl's. The rest are in Dale's possession, I believe."

"That's right," Dale agreed with a nod of his head. "I stored them in the RV. The cabinet over the fridge. Thought it would be safe there. We'll get you what you need after dinner, T-Dog."

I slid the list back to Glenn. "Based on the dosage, give him thirty of the pills, Dale. Take one pill three times daily, T-Dog. Keep it clean and let it breathe as much as you can."

"And give you a call if it doesn't clear up?" Glenn teased. When he nudged me with his elbow, I rolled my eyes. "I'm glad we've got a nurse around. No offense, Mr. Greene. I'm sure you would've, uh, said the same thing and all."

Something told me that Hershel _hadn't_ missed the note that Glenn had passed to Maggie when she'd hurried past, if the stern look he offered the man sitting next to me was any sort of an indication. His lips twitched. "Yes, Glenn. I believe in this case that Iva is correct. Hopefully a round of the antibiotics will be strong enough; otherwise I'm afraid we may find ourselves facing a difficult situation. We don't have the supplies on hand for the antibiotic drip that you'll need otherwise."

"I'm sure the antibiotics will do the job. Be sure to remind me and I'll help you clean the site as needed."

T-Dog nodded, an obvious look of relief curling his lips. "Thanks."

"Any cornbread left?" Daryl inquired, breaking the tense silence that followed T-Dog's words of gratitude. "Ain't had cornbread in ages."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

 **Chapter Content Warning:** Naughty bit ahead.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Twelve~**_

Daryl dusted his hands off and surveyed the bed of the pickup, hands on his hips. "I think we've got just about everything that might be of use. Plus they ain't no more room."

The bed of the pickup was stacked several feet high, cases of supplies tied down with rope and ratchet straps. Additionally, we'd crammed more supplies into the black Jeep that Shane and Glenn had rode in on the ride to the Dollar General store. Daryl's observation seemed accurate – I didn't think there were any more useful supplies left in the store.

Glenn, who had seemed distracted the whole time we were gathering and loading supplies, stared at the truck's back tire for a long few moments before he abruptly lifted his head. "Huh? Oh, yeah." He tugged his hat off of his head and rubbed his hand over his hair briefly. "I think we've got about all we're going to get. I – Maggie and I already got everything from the pharmacy. Should we check out any other places?"

When Shane glanced up at the afternoon sky and shook his head, I shrugged. Shane scratched the back of his head and addressed them lazily. "Nah, best to wait til morning. Took us longer in here than I would've thought. I think it would be a good idea to check out that tractor supply, but it'd be best to take a couple of us in case we gotta clear anything out. You two go on. We'll make sure we didn't overlook anything."

Both Daryl and Glenn hesitated for a moment before they climbed into the pickup truck, Glenn waving in farewell. Frowning, I lifted a hand and waved as Daryl started the truck and the vehicle eased away, rumbling quietly before disappearing from sight.

I had purposely climbed into the truck with Daryl before leaving the farm, partly due to my curiosity about his crossbow and partly because I wasn't certain spending more time with Shane was ideal. He hadn't seemed to notice, and I'd spent the drive into town coaxing Daryl into conversation. We mostly spoke about the possibility of good game around the farm and the likelihood that he would be able to get a good sized buck in the next couple of days.

When I'd asked Daryl if he had noticed Glenn acting strangely, he'd shaken his head dismissively. "He was acting like he got to wet his wick yesterday. 'unno why he was acting so weird this morning. Maybe Maggie done broke him in."

I'd laughed in reply but had mentally considered the possibility that Maggie and Glenn had used their together time to do more than search for supplies at the pharmacy. Considering that Shane and I were guilty of said accusation, I couldn't exactly rule out the possibility.

Shane wandered into the store and I followed behind him, casting a quick look in the direction of the pile of stiffs where he'd tossed the man's body the day before. The pile hadn't been disturbed, which meant that he'd successfully stopped the man from coming back – assuming he'd been bitten in the first place. It was a bit of a relief to know that the attacker wouldn't be coming back, but we still had no idea whether or not he'd been telling the truth about being camped with others.

I shut the heavy door behind me and stepped aside so that Shane could slide the heavy stack of cases of plates and utensils in front of the door. Since we'd blocked ourselves in when Glenn and Daryl had been working with us to gather supplies, I wasn't too terribly surprised. After our terrible confrontation the day before, I didn't want to risk the possibility of someone sneaking inside while we looked over the store one last time.

I strolled through the back room and began to walk down an aisle, searching the near-empty shelves for things that might have been overlooked. All of the boxed and canned food had been cleared out, same with the packaged foods such as potato chips. I spied a single can of coffee laying on its side on the floor and picked it up to study the label.

"Columbian roast. Good stuff," Shane offered conversationally. I tossed the can over my shoulder at him and he caught it with ease.

I scoured the hardware area one last time, disappointed to find that we'd cleared it completely. They'd even taken the boxes of nails and screws, thinking there might be some possibility of using them for some sort of redneck security system they planned to rig over the next few days.

"Looks like we've cleared it out. Though there are some blankets left over here." I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of the two blankets that remained and tugged them off of the shelves. Shane stood only a few feet away, but he'd sat the can of coffee down at some point. "What?"

"Nothing." He'd discarded his blue hat in the Jeep at some point while we were loading up supplies, so his hair was a little ruffled. "You been avoidin' me?"

"Avoiding you?" I folded the two blankets slowly before I stacked them on a small coffee that was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. "Why would I be avoiding you? I saw you at dinner last night. We ate breakfast together. We just spent two hours loading supplies into vehicles." I lifted a brow and dusted my hands off on my jeans. "Are you waiting for me to climb you like a tree?"

His lips twitched. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just curious if you're actually okay after yesterday. Shooting that guy, I mean. Can't have been easy."

"Wasn't the first person that I've had to kill since the world went to shit, Shane. But then, that doesn't surprise you, does it?"

"Not so much. Didn't even flinch yesterday. Most women would've just fallen apart, I'd think. You weren't unaffected, but it didn't ruin you."

I tapped my fingers on my thigh. "If you're looking for someone to take Lori's place-"

"What?" he interrupted, eyes narrowing. Shane took a step towards me and I took a step back when he tried to put a hand on my shoulder. My obvious retreat caused him to pause in his tracks. "Why do you say that?"

"The others might have mentioned it in passing. Explains that unspoken tension between you and Rick, though. What? You didn't really think he didn't know, did you?" He clenched his jaw and I tucked one hand into the front pocket of my jeans. "He watches you when you glance at Lori. She probably didn't tell him, but he knows. Deep down, I think he knows."

"We thought he was dead. I went to the hospital and-"

"I heard, or I heard parts of it, really. You thought he was dead. Barricaded the door. Weeks later he found his way to Atlanta and Glenn saved him from a group of the dead. Just happened that Glenn was part of a group that was camping in a quarry. With you. Lori and Carl." I shrugged. "Shit happens during the end of the world. If he hasn't killed you for it yet, I doubt he's going to bother. Long as you aren't still fucking around behind his back, that is."

Shane looked away briefly and then met my eyes, a fierce fire burning within their dark depths. "It was only a couple times, and once Rick was back – we thought he was dead. You gotta understand, I couldn't hear no pulse, couldn't hear him breathing. I thought barricading him in that hospital room would at least save him from facing the possibility of the walkers ravaging him."

I shrugged indifferently. "Yesterday was nice. Really nice," I corrected with a shake of my head. I wasn't sure how to tell him that I didn't want him fucking me while picturing Lori, so I forged ahead. "Not sure I'm willing to be a stand in, no matter how good it was."

"Stand in? You mean Lori."

"You sure you weren't a detective? You're good at deducing the facts of the matter."

His lips twitched. "I have a real hard time thinking about anyone else when you're around – since yesterday. That bothers me."

"It bothers me, too. It was a spur of the moment never-know-when-the-world-is-gonna-end type moment, Shane. It's not a one and done and forever after type thing. That's not how any of this works." I paused for a moment and then pulled my hair free from the elastic that had kept it out of my face. "Dark hair, dark eyes. She's taller than me and we have different shapes but-"

"You're completely different, far as I'm concerned. But it's fine. Yesterday was damn good, you're right. If you want it to happen again, you let me know. Til then, no skin off my back, right?"

I'd always prided myself on my ability to read people, and I felt confident in my assessment about Shane. But, people had changed since the world had ended. It was hard to use my head when there was something about Shane that the rest of me, mostly my body, was already decisive.

"No internet, no television. Not a whole lot of ways to pass the time."

He tilted his head to the side slightly. "There is that." Part of me thought that Hershel allowing us to use his facilities to take brief showers was another check in the plus side, another sign of encouragement. "Come 'mere."

I knew it was stupid to step towards him, to loop my arms around his neck. I knew that it would lead us back to the dangerous road we'd charged straight down just the day before. But, he made my skin tingle and my body flush in a way that made me feel almost drunk. Between the chances of living to see another day being remarkably low – and my body's very human sexual needs – I couldn't seem to talk myself out of it.

"Okay, fine. We've got some time to kill," I agreed before I tangled my fingers in his hair and drew myself up on my tiptoes to slide my lips over his. The sound of his soft groan made me smile in victory. "You barred the door, right?"

His immediate response was to remove my weapons and sit them on a nearby shelf, his soon followed. Then his hands were roaming over me, exploring, teasing, stroking. When he tackled his boots and jeans, I piled a couple comforters I'd pulled from their packaging onto the floor. I focused on tugging off my own boots and then found myself laughing when his hands found their way to my belt.

We were a bit more carefree than we'd been the day before, lingering longer and exploring one another unlike the day before, where we'd rushed to come together as quickly as possible. It seemed fantastical and whimsical to lay down side by side on the thick comforters in an abandoned Dollar General, no immediate worries on our minds but tasting and teasing until we could take no more of the sensuous torture.

It seemed entirely too risky to be laying underneath him, bare flesh sliding and rubbing. But, I felt lost in the warmth as he trailed his lips all over me. I'd known the moment I'd tugged that condom package out of my pocket and teased him that it was a bad idea. I didn't know the man, didn't know much about his past or if he'd be interested. Oh, I'd seen a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes when I'd dumped the boxes upon boxes of contraceptives into the cart, but until that moment I hadn't even been certain he'd be interested.

He _had_ been though, and still was. Of that, at least, there was no doubt.

Sheathed in lubricated latex, he took his time easing his cock in, hissing as I shifted my hips to take him in deeper, faster. I ran my nails over his back, cupped his firm cheeks, and eased one leg up and over the back of his knee.

There on that small pallet of comforters, we explored and took and took and took until only exhaustion and the realization that the afternoon had faded was cause for quits.

And it left me with no doubt whatsoever in my mind that there would be a next time, and a time after that, and a time after that – until one or both of was completely sated.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Thirteen~**_

The following day Rick announced that he thought it was important that everyone, even little Sophia, learn more about gun and weapon safety and usage. There was some general discomfort and discord, and Hershel in particular was against the idea. He refused to allow Beth or her boyfriend Jimmy participate, but couldn't argue when Maggie insisted that she was old enough to make her own decisions – added to that, of course, was the fact that she was already vaguely familiar, at least with a rifle. Jimmy had volunteered to stay on guard and keep watch over the farm, and T-Dog had opted to stay behind to assist him. Given the nature of his injury, I'd agree that it would probably be for the best. He needed to rest and hydrate, and based on the slightly leery look Jimmy had cast in T-Dog's direction, I was curious to hear about their time together – after the fact.

Rick, Dale, Otis, and Shane looked over several area maps for almost an hour before a location was finally agreed upon for the lesson. It was important to travel far enough away from the farm that any stiffs the noise might draw wouldn't find their way to the farm. The location needed to be defendable but also private enough that we wouldn't chance being interrupted.

We piled into three vehicles – an old SUV, Otis' older truck, and Shane's black Jeep. I opted to ride in the backseat of the Jeep with Maggie while Daryl rode shotgun and Shane drove. We were the in the rear of the convoy, following behind the SUV Rick drove and Otis, who was in the lead.

After a few minutes of silence, I began to study Maggie curiously. Quiet. Shoulder-length hair. Bright eyes. A form most men would probably find very attractive. She didn't seem all that comfortable as she clutched her hands together in her lap.

"What did you do before all this happened?"

She jerked her head slightly and looked at me curiously for a moment before she exhaled. "I was going to school. Georgia Tech and majoring in Business Administration. Flunked out the semester before all this started and came back home to help out Daddy." She smiled wryly, a sad glint in her eyes. "I guess I should be grateful I did so poorly and had no choice but to come back home. Glenn told me how bad Atlanta got. I was sharing an apartment in the city then. I'd be dead, now."

I wasn't sure how she would react, but I pat her knee affectionately and then leaned back in the tiny seat. The soft top cover was on, and though I craved the feel of the wind I knew it was wouldn't be wise to have gone without it.

"I moved back home to Tennessee about six months 'fore all this started. Granny was getting worse and no one else would help take care of her. Had my own life, my own friends back in Chicago. I know it ain't easy giving that up for your family, no matter how much you love them."

She didn't reply and a few minutes passed in tense silence before Shane began to search for a radio station, quickly realizing that one couldn't be found.

I wanted to ask Maggie if the rumors about her and Glenn were true – there was something about her that made me want to gossip and carry on the same way I would have once done with Libby. But, I bit my tongue and caught Shane's gaze in the rearview mirror and ignored his grin and studied my fingerless gloves until we finally slowed to a stop in the area the men had decided on using for a training field.

It took about half an hour to set up targets, using a couple old bales of straw that Otis had hauled out in his truck. Shane hung some empty soda cans on fishing line on a branch; the wind would catch the cans and cause them to swing gently from side to side. Then Rick and Shane worked together to explain gun safety, showed everyone how to unload and load several different types of firearms, and then began to demonstrate the proper shooting stance.

Rick had in his possession three silencers, so three people could practice firing at once. Though there was an abundance of ammunition, everyone was leery about wasting too much. So every shot had to count, which meant that each person only got a dozen rounds or so.

"Hey." Carol studied the unloaded .25 caliber gun in her hand. She shot me a curious glance before she looked over at the grouping of vehicles, where Dale was entertaining Sophia by reading a Harry Potter novel to the girl. "Nice little Saturday Night Special. You keep that in your purse?"

"It was Ed's," she replied gruffly, palming the gun awkwardly. "My husband's. He always kept it in the nightstand beside the bed. He's dead." When I opened my mouth to give my condolences, she frowned. "Don't bother. He was an asshole. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he was an asshole."

"Couldn't agree more," Andrea piped up helpfully, leaning a hip against a tree nearby. She'd tugged an old tan-colored cowgirl hat on over her blonde hair and the look was decidedly rustic. "Don't gloss over the truth, Carol. He beat the shit out of her and her daughter. If I'd met him before the world changed, I would have brought him up on a lot of charges."

Andrea had a .38 caliber handgun holstered on her hip, but I'd only seen her fire it a few times during the practice. I gestured towards it and she hesitated briefly before she tugged it out of the secured holster and handed it over, handle first.

I pulled the slide back and ejected the chambered round into the palm of my hand, flipped the safety on, and then handed the gun to Carol. "It won't fire. There isn't even a round chambered, so you could pull the trigger and nothing would happen. Take it." She tucked the small .25 caliber into her boot and palmed Andrea's gun nervously. "Don't act like it's a fucking snake that's about to deliver a venomous bite, woman. It's no different from a tool in the kitchen. It has a purpose. There you go."

She straightened her shoulders and exhaled slowly as she stared down at the gun she clasped in her right hand. Andrea shifted her weight from foot to foot and frowned at me before she studied the change in Carol's appearance. She straightened her shoulders, stiffened her spine, and lifted her head defiantly.

"That's it. That little piece of shit _Ed_ had? Sure, it can do the trick. But you feel that? Yeah, that's what the weight of a gun is supposed to feel like in your grasp, Carol. It's supposed to make you feel small, like you're cupping a man through his jeans." Her eyes went wide in alarm and I giggled. "I knew that one would get you. Look." I stood beside her and lifted her arms, assisting her in copying the stance that Rick was teaching everyone. "Put your left hand here. That's right. This is just added support. There's some stability here and it will help keep your aim true. Once you can anticipate the recoil of your weapon you'll be less likely to need this – plus, you won't always be able to have your left hand free."

"It's heavier than I expected."

"It's not a plastic water gun. This is nothing more than a small piece of machinery, designed and manufactured for the sole purpose of firing with the intention of inflicting damage. To objects, to people. It's not to be taken lightly, that's why it's heavy. At least that's what my grandpa always said."

Her lips twitched and she cast another quick look towards her daughter and Dale and she frowned. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You can and you will." I put my hand over hers and slipped the gun out of her grasp and handed it back to Andrea, who hesitated for a long moment before she tucked it back into the holster. I tossed her the single round I'd ejected and she tucked it into her pocket wordlessly. Then I grabbed Carol by her shoulders, ignored the way that she flinched and drew into herself, and spun her so that she was facing Sophia. "You see that little girl? Of course you do. You brought that little girl into this world, didn't you? You nursed her when she was a baby. You kissed away the booboos and you baked cookies and sweets with her. That little girl is too small to take care of herself, Carol. When you brought her into the world, you did so with the intention of protecting her no matter what, right?"

"Of course, I-"

"And this isn't about Ed, what he did or did not do. This is about you. You and Sophia." I inhaled sharply and shoved her forwards, causing her to stumble before she managed to regain her balance. "That? That was a stumble. That was you regaining your balance and standing on your own two feet without any assistance. Now you need to be able to stand on your own and protect you and yours. Rick!"

I'd spied Rick, Daryl, Lori, and Shane watching us from afar, and Rick trotted towards us with his brows furrowed. "How's it going over here?"

"She's got fine bones. Keep it light and get her a couple of good knives. I saw the way she handled a chef's knife in the kitchen. She'll get the hang of it."

I expected some sort of snarky retort, but Rick nodded in agreement and led Carol over to where the target practice was taking place. Andrea watched me for a full minute before she snorted in disbelief. "I can't believe it. I've seen that fire in her, we all have, but that's the first time I've seen her take real action. How'd you know?"

Sophia, I saw, was sitting in the grass with her doll, enjoying the shade while Dale read about a young boy's wizarding adventures. "I have seen the lengths women will go to in order to protect their children. Carol needs that place inside of her jumpstarted if she's going to stand a chance of surviving. As for you, I saw your attempt at target practice."

"And? I didn't miss."

"You didn't _hit_ single moving target, though. In case you hadn't noticed, the stiffs don't always stop long enough for you to line up your shot. Relax into it and drop your shoulders. Take a breath and anticipate. What? Aren't I allowed to know how to fire a gun?"

"Is there anything you _don't_ know how to do?" she demanded sourly.

I grinned. "There's a whole hell of a lot that I don't know, but I'm a quick learner. Go on; try to take a few shots on the moving targets."

Leaning against the trunk of a tree, I observed the training as everyone, even Sophia, took a turn. The small girl wasn't comfortable with the idea of using the small gun Carol tucked back into her boot, but she was given a thorough explanation and warning about firearms. She seemed to understand the importance of everything that he said, and promised that she would never stray away alone and risk getting hurt.

Otis appeared a bit miffed when he admitted that while he owned a recurve bow and had brought it for practicing purposes, he wasn't a good shot. Daryl had insisted everyone give it a try, and even the former police offers couldn't quite get the hang of it.

"Hey, Otis. What would you trade for your bow?" I inquired as I inspected it. I tested the draw and decided that it wasn't too much to handle and grabbed an arrow from the bag laying on the ground at my feet. I nocked the arrow, one finger over and two under the arrow, and eyed the straw target in the distance. Then I lifted the bow carefully, adjusting my cant so that I could target down the arrow shaft and drew back until I could settle my middle fingertip on the corner of my mouth. Knees bent slightly, feet shoulder width apart and shoulders angled slightly, I inhaled. "So? Food? Fuel? Running vehicle?"

I exhaled and released, lowering the bow after a moment to study the target in the distance. A little off center of the circle that had been drawn in orange spray paint, but a fair shot nonetheless.

Daryl walked towards the target, retrieved the spent arrow, and strode towards me slowly, all the while chewing on his thumb nail. "I, uh, I never thought about it," Otis admitted as Daryl tucked the arrow back into the bag that was sitting on the ground. "It's of no use to me. You should just take it."

"No. Won't hear of it. This is a valuable tool." I studied it again and lowered it to my side, clutching it in one hand. That's when I realized that several people were studying me intently. "You hold onto it until you decide what you'll trade it for, and then we'll talk." I handed him the bow and he seemed doubtful, but slowly nodded his head in agreement. "What do you think?"

"It's in good shape. Got some high quality arrows here. Reusable. Sharp. Would do the job," Daryl decided as he dusted his hands off on his thighs. "But it's not as accurate. Takes longer to fire."

"No different than you loading a bolt and taking aim, I'd think. I'm not saying it's an idea primary weapon, but the ammunition is possibly recyclable and it would be great for keeping watch. Silent. Effective." I tucked my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. "What about machetes and knives? Firing a weapon is a last ditch effort, or should be."

"Defense practice will help with that. Basics. We can do that back at the farm though." Rick glanced down at the watch on his wrist and frowned with uncertainty. "Don't want to be out too long, but I do want to swing near that tractor supply. Might be a good place to hit tomorrow if we can get a good lay of the land."

We left the targets set up where they were and put away our belongings and headed back towards the vehicles en-masse. As I climbed up into the Jeep, I spied Glenn and Maggie sharing a few quiet words and a quick, hard kiss before she rushed towards the Jeep. I turned my head quickly and pretended that I hadn't noticed, but she seemed nervous as she climbed into the back of the Jeep and quietly sat down. Glenn took his time walking towards the Jeep and stopped in his tracks when I slid into the passenger seat innocently.

"Comin'?" Shane barked as he slammed the driver's side door and put turned the key in the ignition.

I scooted the seat forward so that Glenn could climb into the backseat next to Maggie. I didn't expect him to scoot closer to her and slowly reach for her hand, and I sure didn't expect her to lace her fingers through his. But he did and she did, smiling quickly at one another before looking away.

Frowning, I slammed my door and leaned against it as the Jeep lurched into motion. The world, I knew, was moving too quickly to waste any time. Living through each day was no longer a given, and tomorrow's were always in question. Glenn and Maggie, it seemed, recognized that fact and were determined to live every moment of every day.

Libby came to mind; her wildfire spirit, her determination, her charitable heart. She fell into love hard and fast, never looking back. She would have whispered secrets into Maggie's ear and compared exploits.

I ignored the man next to me because I wanted to reach over and feel his skin, just to reassure myself that he was really there.

That, I knew, was the real difference between Libby and me.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**These Things:** The world's gone to hell – there's just no other way to put it. A sickness spread across the US, infecting the young and the old alike. I'm a long way from home and I may never see my hometown again, but I have to keep fighting. It's them or us; the dead versus the living. Apocalypse: 1, Iva: 0. (OC/Shane)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters from the famous comic book (turned television adaptation) _The Walking Dead_ , but sometimes I wish I was a writer on the show's staff! I will be the first to admit that the characters are a mish mash of their comic book and television personalities. Some might even be horribly butchered, but I've done my best. Iva, Libby, and a few others are my creations, so please give them a bit of respect.

 **Rating:** This story is rating M+ for Mature Audiences. Gore, violence, language, intense situations, sexual innuendo, and sexual scenes occur throughout the course of the story. Chapters containing sexually explicit materials will be properly labeled, but it is advised that children do not read this story.

* * *

" _I'm not a bad man, I'm just overwhelmed. It's cause of these things, it's cause of these things." – She Wants Revenge,_ _ **These Things**_

 **These Things**

 _ **~Chapter Fourteen~**_

"You're healing nicely, Carl, but you still need more time to recover. Do you remember anything else yet?" I prompted as I took the tray holding his lunch, soup and a peach, and sat it on the nearby bureau. He'd regained most of his color and had successfully been keeping liquids and solids down for the last few days. "It hasn't even been two full weeks."

"I know. But I just want to go outside." He peered out the window longingly and I sighed as I perched on the side of the bed next to him. "I want to help. I want to do _something_."

"There's not a whole lot you can do even if you are outside. I'm just being honest," I reminded him. "I _will_ take you out onto the porch, but you're going to have to stay in a chair. The first sign I see of you moving, I'll set your mother on you."

He was heavier than I anticipated, but I managed to scoop him up like a sack of potatoes and make my way through the house and out onto the front porch. When I settled him down onto a comfortable porch chair, I half-expected him to immediately try to fight against my orders. But, he allowed me to cover him with a thin quilt and he leaned back and observed the front lawn curiously.

It wasn't his first time outside of the room, but he still seemed amazed by the progress that had been made in the last few days. I had to admit that everyone had been working very hard and that the farm itself had certainly changed.

The tractor supply had been an absolute gold mine, and the struggle to clear its interior and exterior of stiffs had certainly been worth the effort. We had raided the supplies, quickly deciding that we could do more with the countless rolls of chain link fencing. With the aid of post hole diggers, shovels, and a lot of redneck ingenuity, we'd erected a perimeter fence around the width of the immediate property. It had taken a lot of manpower and sweat, but the fence was in place.

A storm might knock it over, but its primary purpose was to alert us to the presence of the dead. Pilfered car batteries, also taken from the tractor supply, had been rigged with trial and error to create an electrical current on the fence. It wasn't enough to stun, but it hurt. We tested it on one of the stiffs, quite by accident, and discovered that they weren't particularly fond of the experience.

Additionally, we'd borrowed a John Deere backhoe and a large work truck with a fuel tank in the back and they were now housed on Hershel's farm. Though nobody was intimately familiar with using a backhoe, Dale had done enough home projects to figure it out. We'd used the large piece of machinery to dig narrow trenches further out, surrounding the farm itself with three foot trenches that would catch the dead.

"We're still working on sharpening pikes and getting them in the trenches," I offered conversationally as I leaned against the post on the porch. The front yard was a flurry of activity as everyone carried on with their chores and duties. Carol was helping Patricia with the wash and Glenn and Maggie were off in the stables, caring for the horses. Rick and Shane, I knew, were working on stabilizing the old windmill in the center of the property. Their grand plan was to use it as a watch tower for security purposes, but I wasn't willing to climb up there until a ladder was more secure. "We're putting in some late season vegetables, too. And Hershel thinks some of his neighbors' livestock might be roaming across their properties. Maybe we'll find some piglets."

Carl smiled at the prospect and leaned forward in his chair when his mom walked slowly up the porch steps. Her cheeks were a bit sunken and she swiped her hand across her forehead tiredly, but her eyes lit up when they rested on her son.

"Carl. I'm sorry, angel. I guess I lost track of time. Did you have your lunch already?"

Carl chatted animatedly, explaining the tasty soup I'd served and how I'd stated that his wounds were healing nicely. He described his stitches in minute detail and she covered her mouth in shock before she shook her head.

"Carl!" Sophia called out excitedly as she charged up the porch steps. I reached out to grab her by her shoulder when it appeared as though she was going to launch herself into his lap for a hug. She squirmed nervously. "Sorry. I forgot you were hurt. Do you want to go play?

When he cast a sharp look in my direction, I smiled. I waved my hand in dismissal. "Go ahead. The fresh air will do you some good. But, don't overdo it. If you get tired or winded – that means out of breath – sit down. Lori?"

"Sure, baby. Go on ahead." He pushed the thin quilt off of his shoulders and stood shakily, his sneakers scuffing against the wooden decking as he slowly walked across the porch. "Don't go wandering, Carl. I mean it."

We watched the kids slowly descend the steps and wander towards the little camp area that we'd set up and improved in recent days. I was secretly hopeful that a return to the tractor store was warranted. There were a couple of easy-to-assembly small sheds on the premises. If we could get everything into Otis' truck, we could assemble it on site and we could draw straws for who got to use it as housing.

"Lori?" She turned slowly and lowered herself into the chair that Carl had vacated, her palm pressed to her forehead. When she didn't respond, I strode towards her and placed the back of my hand against her forehead without her permission. "You're clammy. You haven't been eating much the last three days. Yes, I notice things. What's wrong?"

Her lips twitched and her dark eyes filled with tears. "Nothing."

I frowned and folded my arms over my chest. "It's just us here. Everyone is out and about, busy." But that wasn't true. Beth was upstairs in her room, too depressed about the world at large to participate or help. "We have antacids if you need them."

"I'm pregnant," she whispered quietly, eyes full of grief. "Dr. Jenner, at the CDC, he did a blood test on everyone. I didn't believe him when he said I was pregnant. I asked Glenn to get me a pregnancy test. I've done four of them."

I'd been briefed on their visit to the CDC outside of Atlanta, but hadn't been aware that the odd Dr. Jenner I'd heard so much about had taken blood samples from every person that had entered. "There might be options available, depending on how far along you are," I offered, wincing. "It would help to know how far along you think you might be."

She shook her head. "That's the thing. I don't know. I was on the pill forever and was always irregular. I don't remember if I've had one since all this happened." She shifted in her seat to reach into her pocket and tug out a tightly folded slip of paper. Lori handed it over silently and I stared at it for a brief moment before I began to unfold it. "I don't know what any of it means. Does it make sense?"

I scanned the results of the blood panel quickly, pausing to note that her blood glucose levels were exceptional, and frowned. Shifting around so that I stood beside her, I crouched, sitting on my haunches, and held up the paper for her examination. "Do you see this here?" I pointed to a line of data labeled _hCG (miU/ml)_. "There are cells in the placenta that make human chorionic gonadotropin, hCG. It can be detected within two weeks of conception."

She squinted. "So this is how he knew?"

"Yes. This test is usually performed to confirm pregnancy, especially in abnormal situations. Or to screen for Down's Syndrome." I scanned the numbers again and frowned. "No idea when your last period was?"

"No."

I exhaled. "At the time of this test, your levels put you in seven to eight week range. Which means that you probably got pregnant about three weeks before the world went to shit, unless my math is off." I did more math in my head, decided it had been almost two weeks since the test. "So, about ten weeks along. Morning sickness is pretty common but should taper off soon."

"Ten weeks?" she whispered, voice full of disbelief. "Then that means – a few days before Rick got shot. We had a fight. And…"

I folded the slip of paper into small squares and handed it to her. "And? Are you saying that you and Rick had sex?"

She flushed. "Yeah. But Rick was in a coma for almost a month, and then we were apart for a few weeks. I thought he was gone," she added softly.

"I'm no mathematician, but unless you were sleeping with someone else before your husband was hospitalized, your husband's the father. I see the relief. Now that you know Shane isn't the father, do you plan to keep it?"

Her cheeks darkened and she narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"There are herbs out there that can cause miscarriages if taken promptly. It won't be easy. The fetus is already developing," I explained in a detached manner, as if I didn't have a care in the world. "But-"

"-Why did you mention Shane?" she demanded. I lifted a brow and she looked down at her feet briefly before she met my eyes. "Rick doesn't know."

"Of course he does. He just doesn't want to air it out."

"But-"

"-I'm not going to lie to you about the risks of being pregnant. You have a kid, so you know how scary it can be when you have access to hospitals filled with trained staff. But, women have been giving birth for thousands of years without the assistance of modern medicine. You can do this." Rick jogged up the porch steps and looked back and forth between us for a few short moments before I rose to my full height. "Remember, Lori. The numbers don't lie."

When I walked into the farmhouse with the intention of changing Carl's be linens, I shouldn't have paused in the shadowed corner of the front room to listen to their conversation. But, my curiosity demanded sating, and I leaned against the wall and listened to Lori quietly share the news of the pregnancy with Rick.

"You are?" he asked, delirious. "But, how can you know so quickly? We haven't had many opportunities to-" he trailed off.

"-The blood draw that Dr. Jenner did? Iva said the results tell how long since my last period." I _hadn't_ , but it was an accurate statement. "She says it must have happened before you got shot. Remember that night that Carl stayed over at the Mitchell's and we got drunk on that wine my aunt sent us? It must have been that night."

I smiled to myself. At least it had been a happy memory.

But Rick wasn't to be deterred. I could almost picture him crouching in front of her, his hands clutching hers desperately. "Lori, I don't know what happened, but I know something did. I saw the way you two looked at each other," he whispered raggedly. "I can't be mad or hold it against you. I know that. You thought I was gone. You thought I was dead and he was keeping you safe. But-"

"-I'm too far along, Rick. I've always been faithful to you." Which meant that she'd been pregnant when she'd slept with Shane. Something that only time would prove, assuming she made it full-term. "What happened with Shane – I'll always wish that I could go back in time and take it back. I was scared, we were both looking for comfort."

Rick took several seconds to reply. "Is the baby healthy?"

"I, uh, I think so. There were times right after everything happened that we weren't getting a lot of food and water, but I've never gone entirely without." I mentally reviewed the medications that had been recovered from the pharmacy and sighed with relief. Even without realizing what they were grabbing Maggie and Glenn had retrieved enough prenatal vitamins to last Lori the rest of her pregnancy. "But I'm scared, Rick."

"Iva and Hershel are here though. They can help deliver the baby when the time comes."

"What kind of world is this to bring a child into though?" she demanded in a shrill whisper. "We don't have the means to take care of a baby, Rick. We're constantly one minute away from the risk of attack. Shelter and food and-"

"-We can do this, Lori. This baby, our baby, it deserves a chance. This is our future. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you two safe."

"I know that, Rick. But, we can't ask everyone else to-"

"-We _can_. We're all a group now, we're family. This baby our baby, is the future. We can do this. Please, Lori. Don't do anything to-"

"-I won't. I'm scared, but I trust you. This is _our_ baby, Rick."

When I heard a soft whisper of skin meeting skin, I quietly scurried into Carl's bedroom and began to strip the linens. Task complete, I tugged fresh sheets into place, put clean pillowcases on the two pillows, and made the bed. I wadded the dirty linens up into a tight ball and carried them out of the room and out onto the back porch, where an ancient scrub tub had been erected for laundry – there was only so much that could be done while the generator was running, after all.

"More?" Carol inquired when I tossed the sheets into a large basket nearby. She was sitting on a low stool and rubbing clothes across the scrub board. Her sleeveless shirt revealed the flex and play in her arms as she worked. "I saw Carl and Sophia race across the backyard. It's so good to see him up and moving."

"Yeah. He's better." I cast a look over my shoulder in the direction of the front of the house and tugged my fingers through my hair. "I'll give you a hand with this."

"No. That's fine."

"Carol-"

"-I really don't mind, Iva. Cooking and cleaning? Those are things that I've done all my life. I'm not half bad at them. There's a whole lot more than you can and _do_ do, so it's fair. I appreciate the offer, but once I'm done with those sheets I'll be finished for the day."

With any luck Rick and Lori would have finished their conversation on the front porch and I could slip by unnoticed. With luck.


End file.
